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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26522365">Jon's Story: Avocado Baby</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/supercasey/pseuds/supercasey'>supercasey</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>TMA Child Avatars AU [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Magnus Archives (Podcast)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Child Avatars AU, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, F/F, Father-Son Relationship, Female Friendship, Human Trafficking, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mother-Son Relationship, Murder, Pregnancy, Psychological Trauma, Stalking, child birth, eldritch horror, gertrude is badly written but i can't bring my ass to care, i don't care if it's ooc it's my fic and i get to choose which character i project onto, we're gonna be kind to our assistants in this chili's tonight</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-09-18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-10-29</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 04:34:00</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>5</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>50,387</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26522365</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/supercasey/pseuds/supercasey</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Child Avatars AU. Statement of Delores Sims given 1987, February 12th, regarding the supposed murder of her husband and the many strange happenings that have occurred since. Statement written and recorded by Gertrude Robinson, head archivist of the Magnus Institute, London. Statement begins.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Agnes Montague/Gertrude Robinson, Elias Bouchard &amp; Gertrude Robinson, Elias Bouchard &amp; Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Elias Bouchard/Peter Lukas, Gerard Keay &amp; Gertrude Robinson, Gertrude Robinson &amp; Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Gertrude Robinson &amp; Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist's Mother, Gertrude Robinson &amp; Michael Shelley</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>TMA Child Avatars AU [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1928536</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>60</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>124</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Meeting Mrs. Sims</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>The description is the single lamest thing I’ve ever written, but fuck it, I really like the formatting style for TMA, so y’all get to deal with that. Also, I’m sorry in advance if anyone ends up sounding OOC; this is my first time writing TMA, so I’d love some feedback if anyone’s got the time!</p><p>(BTW, for those of you who have no idea what I’m talking about, here’s a link to the post talking about this AU in detail: https://supercasey.tumblr.com/post/628906682216513536/tma-child-avatars-au)</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>
    <span>"Oh, it won't get better,</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>That doesn't mean it's gonna get any worse.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>You finally draft a life-long love letter,</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Signed to the man who will be driving your hearse."</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Avocado Baby - Los Campesinos!</span>
  </em>
</p><hr/><p>
  <span>It’s a cold day in early February when Delores shows up. Gertrude’s halfway through her third cup of tea, more sugar than anything else, but so long as it gets her through the day, she can’t be bothered to worry about it. The heating in the Archives is currently broken- she thinks it was Gerard’s doing, but she hasn’t the heart to ask him about it, especially since Michael was so willing to say it was his own fault- and the crisp winter  air is really starting to get to her, so much so that she’s dug up an old quilt from the back of archival storage to wear over her shoulders while she works, trying her best to ignore the nip against her ears. It’s a busy day in the archives, as with the coming of a new year, a lot of people come to the institute with the supernatural troubles of their lives in a vain attempt at getting a fresh start.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Honestly, it makes Gertrude want to roll her eyes, even for the real statements; just because you talk about your pain doesn’t mean it will magically go away, especially once they unload it onto her. Still, she isn’t one to turn down a statement, and with Michael and sometimes Gerard around to help, she’s been getting through plenty of statements within the last few weeks, breezing through them like it’s an olympic sport. It helps that they’re doing it by appointment right now, giving everyone a chance to catch their bearings between statements, something that’s necessary for the especially gruesome or unsettling ones. But of course, the best statements come at the most unexpected of times, and today’s statement is no different.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As Gertrude downs the last of her drink, she hears the beginnings of a commotion in the archives, and not for the first time, she’s almost glad that Michael is so paranoid about her health, because if he wasn’t then her office door would be closed, and she wouldn’t be able to hear what’s going on outside.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, uh, hello! I’m s-sorry ma’am, but you can’t be down here!” Michael notices a visitor in the archives first, and he's up on his feet rather fast fast as lightning, running to the door of the archives to try and intervene, the young man’s voice jittery as he tries to sound authoritative, but the effect is lost due to his dreadfully nervous stutter.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Please, it’s an emergency,” A feminine voice responds, low and somehow familiar, though Gertrude’s certain she’s never met whoever just trespassed into the archives. There are footsteps coming towards Gertrude’s office now, but they’re stopped prematurely, likely by Michael trying to get in the way of whoever is walking. “Please sir, I </span>
  <em>
    <span>have</span>
  </em>
  <span> to see the Archivist!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m really s-sorry, but uh, we can only do statements by, uh, ap-pointment right now… I’m sorry,” Michael is nothing if not apologetic, likely catching onto how panicked the visitor he’s dealing with truly is. “If you’ll just f-follow me to the lobby, I can, um, h-have Miss Rosie help you fill out a statement, and I’ll h-have the Archivist read it as soon as p-possible!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There’s a ruffle of clothing, as if someone is shaking quite violently. Possibly a head shake? But no, it sounds more extreme, almost like a seizure. “No, you don’t understand, I </span>
  <em>
    <span>can’t!</span>
  </em>
  <span> If I write it down, he could… he could find it, and then what will I do!?” The visitor let’s out a loud, fearful sob. “Please sir, just </span>
  <em>
    <span>please</span>
  </em>
  <span> let me talk to her. I’ll only be an hour at most, I swear!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Uh…” Michael trails off, somewhere between scared and concerned, something that unfortunately is all too common for him. “Gerry!” He shouts, voice so loud that Gertrude winces, having to bite her tongue to keep from ordering him to hush. It’s not like the archives are that big; he doesn’t need to yell. “Gerry, th-there’s a statement giver here and I don’t know what to do!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are you freaking kidding me?” Gerard sounds more confused than anything else, something that makes Gertrude almost snort in amusement; he sounds so much like Eric when he’s caught off-guard. “Michael, if she’s here to give a statement, just tell Gertrude and let her in already! Jesus dude, you’ve been here longer than me, you should know this shit.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“B-But she doesn’t, uh, h-have an appointment!” Michael explains, scared to do something that he knows he isn’t allowed right now.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gerard takes a minute to answer, setting aside whatever he’s doing to physically get up and investigate the situation. Once he reaches where Michael and the visitor are, Gertrude hears him pause, his energy tentative. “Sorry about my friend here, Mrs…” He trails off, waiting for the woman to finish for him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“My name is Delores Sims,” The intruder answers, relaxing now that someone isn’t trying to kick her out. “I’m so sorry for bothering you boys, but I </span>
  <em>
    <span>really</span>
  </em>
  <span> need to see the archivist; it’s an emergency!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s no trouble at all, Mrs. Sims,” Gerard says, cool as a cucumber while his peer remains a ball of nerves by his side. “If you’d just wait here for a moment, I’ll be right back. Michael, do ya mind keeping our guest here company until I get back?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Y-Yeah, sure,” Michael agrees, relieved that Gerard is taking initiative for him. “Here Mrs. Sims, t-take a seat over here please…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Moments later, Gerard is poking his head into Gertrude’s office, his recently dyed hair creating a raven tinted curtain across his face, only one of his soft grey eyes visible through the sea of black. “Are ya busy right now, boss? We’ve got a visitor.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So I’ve heard,” Gertrude murmurs, setting her cup aside to give her unofficial second assistant a small, knowing smile. “Do remind me to put a </span>
  <em>
    <span>‘No Shouting’ </span>
  </em>
  <span>sign up after this, won’t you? If I weren’t already half deaf, I would blame it on your boys’ constant screaming.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gerard chuckles under his breath. “Quit your bitchin’, boss; at least we aren’t constantly reading statements like we're auditioning for fucking Shakespeare.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Language,” Gertrude warns, standing with a slight wince. She really should see a chiropractor at some point, but after that last incident with the one who was a servant of the Flesh… she shivers, shaking her head of the memory. “Go ahead and tell Mrs. Sims that she can come in now… oh, and be a dear and make sure she doesn't trip on anything, won’t you? She’s unbelievably panicked at the moment, and I’d hate to have a pregnant woman fall and hurt herself in my archive; Elias would never let me hear the end of it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gerard genuinely startles, shocked by the information. “Wait, she’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>pregnant?</span>
  </em>
  <span> She isn’t even showing!” He points out, before he suddenly sighs, remembering at the last second that Gertrude has at least </span>
  <em>
    <span>some </span>
  </em>
  <span>Beholding powers. “Oh, right; you just kinda </span>
  <em>
    <span>Know</span>
  </em>
  <span> shit. Well, I won’t tell her she’s pregnant to her face, but yeah, I’ll bring her in asap, boss. You want me or Michael to take the next appointment if they get here before you’re done with Mrs. Sims?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gertrude smiles softly, appreciating the boy’s thoughtfulness. “That won’t be necessary, but thank you, Gerard. Now, if you wouldn’t mind, I believe Mrs. Sims has waited to give her statement long enough.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gerard nods. “Got it,” He heads out quickly, an audible smile in his voice when he gets back to Michael and Delores, though his boss knows it’s forced. “So sorry about the wait, Mrs. Sims; the archivist is ready to see you now. Would you like any help into her office?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Delores seems surprised by the offer, at least if her response is anything to go off of. “Oh, um, n-no, I think I’m alright… thank you though, Mr…” She does the same thing Gerard did earlier, hoping she’ll get a name out of him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s Gerry.” Gerard states, still smiling.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Gerry,” Delores repeats, letting the nickname roll off her tongue. “Such a </span>
  <em>
    <span>nice </span>
  </em>
  <span>name. Thank you very much, Gerry.” She then stands up, making her way to Gertrude’s office without much trouble, but it never hurts to be careful, especially in this line of work.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Even though she sort of </span>
  <em>
    <span>Knows</span>
  </em>
  <span> who’s coming her way, Gertrude still feels her throat go dry as Delores Sims steps into her office, a sense of unease filling her bones that she’s fairly certain is shared with this newcomer. Delores is a short, dark skinned woman with long, beautiful black hair, an array of purple and green hair bands tied throughout her thick locks of hair, giving a slightly softer edge to her already quite youthful appearance. She’s well-dressed, though not obscenely so; certainly not wealthy like a Lukas is, but well off enough to not be wearing anything with stains or tears in the fabric. Even though she’s obviously quite afraid, Delores still manages a small smile for Gertrude, and were the archivist a decade or two younger, she would be half tempted to let her eyes linger on this beautiful visitor a few seconds longer, but alas, she knows she’s a bit too old for Mrs. Sims. Besides, it’s rude to flirt with someone who's expecting.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Like Gerard pointed out, Delores doesn’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>look </span>
  </em>
  <span>pregnant at a glance, but Gertrude can sense something growing inside of the visitor, and seeing as the sensation isn’t malicious or alien, she knows it’s a human embryo and not another worm monster inside of this woman. After closing the door to the office behind her, Delores steps closer to the archivist, her gaze hesitant as she looks around, unsure of how to go about this. In that moment, she vaguely reminds Gertrude of a rabbit trapped in a barn, not remembering how she got it or how she can get out. With any luck, the archivist can lead her out of that barn today, but for now she has no idea what lays inside, just that it’s very real and very, </span>
  <em>
    <span>very </span>
  </em>
  <span>scary.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Um… thank you so much for seeing me on such short notice,” Delores says, tone courteous as she bows her head slightly to the older woman. She fusses with the bottom of her shirt, unsure still of what to do. “I really am sorry for just barging in here like this and screaming, but I don’t have much choice. I don’t know when he’ll be back, and I can’t risk him finding out I’m here before I can tell you everything that's been going on.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Who’s this </span>
  <em>
    <span>‘he’</span>
  </em>
  <span> you keep talking about? Nevermind, we’ll get to him in good time, I’m sure,” Gertrude is calm as she pulls out a notepad and pen from her desk, ready to jot down Delores’s story once she gets started; she has a feeling this one shouldn’t be on tape, even if she can already tell that it’s a real one. “Go ahead and have a seat, dear. Would you care for some tea? I’ve found it helps clear my head, especially when I’m uneasy.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Delores hesitates, before shakily nodding, careful not to fall over as she takes a seat in a nearby chair. “Y-Yes, that would actually be quite lovely. Thank you, ma’am.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gertrude bites back on a chuckle. “No need to be so formal, dear. You can just call me Gertrude, or Mrs. Robinson if you’d prefer. Now, if you'll excuse me for just one moment; </span>
  <em>
    <span>Michael!”</span>
  </em>
  <span> She raises her voice as she calls out, ignoring the way Delores flinches at the sound.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Seconds later, Michael comes sprinting into the office, his expression vaguely reminding Gertrude of an overexcited dog looking to get a biscuit and its belly rubbed. “Yes, Mrs. Robinson? Is there s-something you need?” He asks, smiling that too-wide smile of his.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes, Delores and I would absolutely </span>
  <em>
    <span>love </span>
  </em>
  <span>some tea. The usual for me please,” Gertrude explains, only pausing to raise an eyebrow at her guest. “And for you, dear? Anything special? I'm afraid we don’t have much variety, but Michael here certainly knows how to make tea good no matter the circumstances.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Michael blushes in the background while Delores thinks on it, Gertrude knowing her answer before she even opens her mouth, though she knows better than to say as much. “May I please have some Earl Grey tea? With three sugars and a spoonful of honey, if it’s not too much trouble.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Of course! I’ll be right back with those!” Michael promises, gone as quickly as he came. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Dammit, he left the door open again.</span>
  </em>
  <span> Okay, maybe she </span>
  <em>
    <span>should </span>
  </em>
  <span>get on him about that more, especially when she has a statement giver visiting.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, no point in waiting until he gets back; it’ll be at least a good twenty or so minutes,” Gertrude moves things along, catching onto how nervous her client is. She gets up and closes the door as she speaks, wanting Delores to feel like she has some semblance of privacy during their talk. “So, I understand this is likely your first time giving a statement like this to our institute. It’s all very simple really; just tell me your full name, a short sentence describing why you’re here, and then you may begin with your story, preferably from the very beginning.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Delores nods, taking a deep, steadying breath. “R-Right… my name is Delores Lauren Sims, and I’m here because I… this will sound so silly, but I think I’m being stalked by some sort of monster, and I think it murdered my husband, and now wants to kidnap my baby.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gertrude doesn’t even blink; honestly, that sounds pretty tame, compared to most statements she gets in-person. “Very well. Go ahead and get started whenever you’re ready.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Delores takes another deep breath, thrown into a newfound rythme by Gertrude’s request. It’s not a </span>
  <em>
    <span>true </span>
  </em>
  <span>Compulsion, but the archivist knows it doesn’t need to be, not when her client is already so eager to vent her story to someone. “Alright, so I think it all started… about </span>
  <em>
    <span>three</span>
  </em>
  <span> weeks ago? I never much believed in the supernatural before then- never saw enough proof of it- but my husband did. His name is… </span>
  <em>
    <span>was </span>
  </em>
  <span>Alexander Sims, and he was an editor for London's Gaze newspaper. We met all the way back in high school, and on our third date, he told me about the ghosts in his house, and from there, about the things he had been seeing throughout his life. I honestly thought he was just showboating, trying to impress me with made up stories that he was too brave to be scared by, but that </span>
  <em>
    <span>fear </span>
  </em>
  <span>in his eyes… it was never a joke to him, never about looking tough. Even though I didn’t believe him, I still loved him, so I never teased him or anything of the sort, at least not outside of a few playful jabs, and I always made sure he knew I wasn’t trying to hurt his feelings. I think, of all the things I’m having to learn to live without, that’s the worst one… he always </span>
  <em>
    <span>understood</span>
  </em>
  <span> me, even when I really struggled to get my thoughts and feelings out. Xander was so patient, so loving, I just…” She breaks into a soft sob, wiping her eyes with the sleeves of her cardigan.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Let it all out, dear. These things are never easy,” Gertrude whispers, trying her hardest to be sympathetic as she hands Delores a box of tissues. “You said that you believe something supernatural murdered your husband, correct? When did this take place?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Delores hiccups for a few more minutes, unable to give a verbal answer, and in that time, Michael arrives with the two women’s tea, careful not to say anything as he leaves again and, thank god, actually remembers to close the door this time. Gertrude takes the opportunity to have a few sips of her drink, wincing slightly at how hot it is. It’s her own fault for taking a sip when Michael literally </span>
  <em>
    <span>just</span>
  </em>
  <span> made it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Finally, after Delores has a sip from her mug as well, she relaxes, the tea working it’s magic on her. “L-Like I said, it happened three weeks ago. Xander and I were celebrating the fact that I had finally conceived our first child after years and years of trying. We were having a special dinner together, having ordered from a nice restaurant we both like, and he just… it happened so</span>
  <em>
    <span> fast, </span>
  </em>
  <span>if I had blinked I would’ve missed it. But I didn’t, so I saw what </span>
  <em>
    <span>really</span>
  </em>
  <span> happened. One minute, Xander was standing at the top of the staircase, heading upstairs to check on the cat after he’d knocked something down in his study, and then… then, a cloud of fog was just sort of </span>
  <em>
    <span>there</span>
  </em>
  <span> in front of him, and an arm came shooting out from it, shoving him down the stairs. I think the only thing I take comfort in is that it was instant; he was dead before he even hit the ground floor. I jumped up right away, running to try and somehow help him, but when I looked up to the top of the stairs, I saw him… well, not </span>
  <em>
    <span>him,</span>
  </em>
  <span> but another man, who I think might know the man who’s following me? This one, who killed Alexander, he was tall and broad shouldered, built almost like a brick wall. He had this sort of sad, pitying look on his face, like he was… I don't know, </span>
  <em>
    <span>apologetic?</span>
  </em>
  <span> I’m not sure, but his face was </span>
  <em>
    <span>very</span>
  </em>
  <span> distinguishable. He had short, snow white hair, coupled with a long, white beard. He also had the most ghastly blue eyes I’d ever seen, like someone had poured droplets of the sky in his irises.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gertrude fights with herself not to react, her mind immediately wandering to her boss’s frequent visitor and ex-husband, Peter Lukas. Why would </span>
  <em>
    <span>Peter</span>
  </em>
  <span> of all people be involved in a random man’s murder? Direct involvement is usually the last thing Mr. Lukas likes to do, especially when it doesn’t involve him pulling someone into the Lonely forever. Speaking of which, if this really </span>
  <em>
    <span>is</span>
  </em>
  <span> the work of the Lukas family, then why was Alexander killed instead of being dragged into the fog? Was he not well suited for the Lonely? It’s not like that’s stopped them before; they've never been very picky eaters. Such a strange situation, and were it not for the circumstances, Gertrude would be very tempted to write this off as either a clever prank or a missighting, but the true, unadulterated </span>
  <em>
    <span>fear </span>
  </em>
  <span>in Delores Sims’ eyes… she </span>
  <em>
    <span>definitely</span>
  </em>
  <span> saw a ghost, and unfortunately for her and her partner, that ghost wasn’t as dead as it should’ve been.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Well, there’s no use wasting time with theories when Delores is still in the midst of giving her statement. Still, Gertrude is… not a </span>
  <em>
    <span>kind </span>
  </em>
  <span>or even </span>
  <em>
    <span>empathetic </span>
  </em>
  <span>woman, but she </span>
  <em>
    <span>is, </span>
  </em>
  <span>at the very least, quite sensible, so she waits patiently for Delores to calm herself down from the worst of her nightmare, all while she sips at her now much cooler tea. By the time Gertrude is almost done with her drink, her guest has finally recovered, at least enough to continue giving her statement. She sits up, readying herself to continue jotting down Delores’ story.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“After Xander fell, I called the police as soon as I could manage to speak again,” Delores explains, voice low and somber. After all, it’s only been three weeks since she had to bury her husband. “I… I didn’t have the courage to tell them what I saw. I just told them that he fell, and, somewhat thankfully, it all checked out. A few days later, I buried him, and although it was the worst week of my life, I wanted to believe that the hard part was over. I wanted to believe I’d hallucinated what I saw, so that I could focus on preparing to be a single mother, but… but then </span>
  <em>
    <span>he </span>
  </em>
  <span>started following me,” Her breath hitches, but she doesn’t stop. “I first saw him on the tube back from the doctor’s, following a check-up regarding my health. My doctor was concerned I might lose the baby from being so emotionally wrecked, so she wanted to make sure I was recovering as expected. I was sitting in one of the seats, lucky enough to have found one, and while I was reading over the results of my blood test, I saw him. The man was short, but not obscenely so. He had slicked back blond hair, was pale with a slight tan, and his eyes… oh dear god, his </span>
  <em>
    <span>eyes.</span>
  </em>
  <span> I thought the man in the cloud of fog’s eyes were intimidating, but this man’s, his were such a piercing, </span>
  <em>
    <span>inhuman </span>
  </em>
  <span>green, I honestly thought I was looking at a cat for a few seconds. But I wasn’t, and no matter how many times I blinked, his eyes never lost that frightening tint to them, almost like they had the force of ten thousand gazes behind them.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Elias. Elias </span>
  <em>
    <span>fucking</span>
  </em>
  <span> Bouchard. That just </span>
  <em>
    <span>has</span>
  </em>
  <span> to be who Delores is talking about, but again, this only raises more questions for the archivist. What is Gertrude’s boss </span>
  <em>
    <span>doing</span>
  </em>
  <span> stalking some helpless widow? She needs to know more. “He certainly sounds frightening,” She comments, trying not to let Delores see that her description has made her uncomfortable. “Did he say anything to you when you first saw him?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes, he did,” Delores seems to almost relax, now that she knows Gertrude isn’t going to dismiss her claims until she's at least done telling her story, but her body keeps that tension, too upset to let it go. “Although the tube was crowded beyond belief, and we were sitting across the aisle from each other, I could still hear him clear as day, while everyone else sounded… like nothing, like they weren’t talking at all, even as their lips moved with words I couldn’t read or hear. My stalker, he didn’t say much when we first met, just smiled at me for an uncomfortably long time, but when he </span>
  <em>
    <span>did</span>
  </em>
  <span> speak… god, his voice was so </span>
  <em>
    <span>cold,</span>
  </em>
  <span> so alien; it was like hearing a snake try to puppet a person. Out of nowhere, the man just smiled at me, and he… he told me congratulations on my pregnancy, and that he hoped my son had his eyes. That’s the thing that freaked me out, I think. If Xander had been there, I could’ve written it off as some creepy stranger saying he thought my husband’s eyes were pretty, but he never even </span>
  <em>
    <span>mentioned</span>
  </em>
  <span> my husband. It was like he was saying that </span>
  <em>
    <span>my</span>
  </em>
  <span> child would have </span>
  <em>
    <span>his</span>
  </em>
  <span> eyes, and not mine or Xander’s. By the time I had gathered the nerve to say something, maybe chew him out for somehow reading my paperwork without me realizing, the tube stopped, and he got off without another word, continuing to smile like a snake oil salesman.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gertrude nods, feeling herself shiver as Delores recounts her encounter with Elias, though she chooses to believe she’s only shivering from the cold, and not any sort of fear. “Am I correct to assume this wasn’t the worst of your encounters with him?” She asks, hoping to find out just how far her boss has gone to harass Mrs. Sims.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Delores sighs, like the world itself is trying to crush her under its weight. “Unfortunately, you would be correct. The worst was just last night, while I was heading home from the grocers. It was dreadfully cold out, and Xander was the one who could drive, so I was bundled beyond belief and walking home later than I would’ve liked. I haven’t exactly been… </span>
  <em>
    <span>coping</span>
  </em>
  <span> well, I don’t think. With Xander’s death, I mean. I always thought </span>
  <em>
    <span>I</span>
  </em>
  <span> was the responsible one, the one with a plan for everything and the one who organized all things that </span>
  <em>
    <span>could</span>
  </em>
  <span> be organized, but now that he’s gone, I think I’m starting to realize how much he held me together, kept me from coming undone at the slightest change in plans. Needless to say, I was in a bad mood going home last night, frustrated that I had bought so much that I was struggling to carry everything, mad I hadn’t left sooner to get the shopping done, and just on the brink of crying like I’ve been doing every day since he died. Because of this, I was rather… </span>
  <em>
    <span>distracted.</span>
  </em>
  <span> I had seen my stalker damn near every day since our first meeting, but I don’t know, I just… I was just so </span>
  <em>
    <span>tired </span>
  </em>
  <span>yesterday that some pitiful, pathetic part of me wanted to believe he would give me a break, but I suppose I should’ve known better than to expect sympathy from something like him.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You can’t blame yourself, Delores,” Gertrude says, voice softer than it’s been in a long time. She’s never been married, and hardly even dated- hasn’t had the time, she keeps on saying, but really, she knows it’s because no one but Agnes has ever made her fall in love before- but she can understand and even sympathize with Delores in this trying time. “You just lost Alexander a few weeks ago, and you can hardly be blamed for running on empty.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It doesn’t make it any less embarrassing… but thank you, Mrs. Robinson,” Delores gives Gertrude a small smile, though it’s gone as soon as she continues with her statement. “Like I said, I wasn’t paying very much attention, so I let out a rather undignified screech when he showed up right behind me. I only saw him because of a passing bus, which had a large mirror on the side, and usually that would’ve annoyed me, being forced to look at myself in public, but I’ve never been so thankful for a stupid advertisement in my life. I whipped around as soon as I caught my breath, and I just… I lit into him. I should've been embarrassed, screaming at a man hardly an inch taller than me just before dusk, but for some reason, no one was around to see my little episode. In fact, once I’d calmed down and looked around, I realized that despite me being on one of the busiest streets in London, not a soul was there but me and my stalker. As for him, he didn’t do much of anything while I lit him up. It sounds silly, but I must admit, I did feel a pang of triumph when I saw him flinch under all my shouting, though it hardly sated me, and once I was done, that victory was outweighed by my immediate breakdown. I was just </span>
  <em>
    <span>tired</span>
  </em>
  <span> of it all, and it hit me like oncoming traffic. I missed Xander, missed riding in the car, missed the warmth of his hugs, and I missed not being stalked by some creepy, cat-eyed little man who couldn’t seem to take a hint!</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t remember exactly what happened next, even though it all happened yesterday evening. I remember collapsing to my knees and crying into the pavement, and sometime later I looked up, and he was still there, now crouched in front of me with such a </span>
  <em>
    <span>pitying</span>
  </em>
  <span> look in his eyes, I simultaneously wanted to hug him and punch his lights out,” Delores pauses to breathe, as well as swallow a good mouthful of tea to keep herself going. If this goes on much longer, Gertrude might need to ask Michael to fetch another round for them. “I don’t remember when I stopped crying, but when I did and managed to look up, the man had all my groceries in his arms, though I’ve no idea when he fished them away from me. It’s strange that he could carry them with seemingly no effort. Like I said, he was a gaunt, short man, and I hardly thought him capable of carrying more than a box of oranges, much less two armloads of groceries. Still, I was in hardly any shape to stop him or even argue. As I rose to my feet, a long, beautiful black limousine pulled up to the curb, and even before it parked, I just </span>
  <em>
    <span>knew </span>
  </em>
  <span>it was his. Strangely enough, I couldn’t see the driver inside. When the limo parked, the doors swung open, and without being told to, I got inside. I don’t know what came over me, really. I like to think I’m more polite than that, that I would ask a thousand times before even </span>
  <em>
    <span>touching</span>
  </em>
  <span> the inside of such a nice car, but I knew somehow that I was supposed to get inside.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gertrude nods, eyes sharp and quizzical. “I see… yes, unfortunately many people report feeling as if they have no control of themselves in these sorts of situations. What happened when you got into the limousine? Did the stalker follow you inside?” She barely manages not to call Elias by name, for fear of it scaring Delores off.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Delores nods, not seeming to notice Gertrude’s discomfort, but that’s probably just because she’s still rather worked up after her encounter last night. “As soon as I was settled inside, the man got in after me, taking a seat across the backseat from me. The door closed on it’s own, and just like that, I was in my stalker’s fancy limo, being driven to god knows where. I used to think that the dark tinted windows of limousines were sort of like one-way mirrors, you know the ones? Dark on one side, but much more clear on the other? Well, this wasn’t the case in this particular limo, and no matter which one I tried to look through, they were </span>
  <em>
    <span>all</span>
  </em>
  <span> pitch black. I still couldn’t see the driver, and to be honest, that was really starting to scare me. Amidst my panic, the man set my groceries on either side of him, his smile never waning, but at least now he finally spoke to me for the first time outside of that one time on the tube. His voice was smooth, like that of one of those well-dressed lads downtown with tongues slick as a wet fish, or like he was doing a really good impression of a politician. When he spoke, his voice was quiet, and his words were elegant. It may seem shameful- and trust me, I hate myself for even </span>
  <em>
    <span>thinking</span>
  </em>
  <span> such a thing, much less admitting as much- but he sounded almost… </span>
  <em>
    <span>comforting.</span>
  </em>
  <span> He almost reminded me of my Xander whenever he would calm me down from one of my occasional panics. That thought, of course, just made things worse on my end.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The stalker told me why he’d been following me, though I still hardly understand it. He told me he was interested in adopting my son, once he came to be. Again, I don’t know how he knows my child’s gender, especially when they aren’t even grown enough for me to find out, but he seemed insistent that I’m having a boy. Before I could say no to him, he kept on going, explaining that with the father gone, I could hardly care for a child all by my lonesome. I’ll admit it, even if it’s rather brutish for a woman to do; I socked him in the mouth for saying such a thing.” Delores smirks now, a glint of pride in her otherwise sorrowful brown eyes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gertrude can’t keep back a snort; she’d pay good money to see the look on Elias’s face after that one. “He deserved it.” She states, chuckling without any shame. Worse comes to worse, the boys will overhear, but they could probably use some ammo to tease her with right now, after such a long string of mostly useless statements from the public.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He certainly did, though it was foolish of me to attack him,” Delores is nothing if not humble, and were it not for the circumstances, Gertrude would be half tempted to ask her if she’s encountered the supernatural before, as she seems more conscientious than most of the people she interacts with these days. “I managed to make his nose bleed, but I didn’t break it, thank god. Still, it was worth it to hear him yelp and whine like a child after all the torment he’d put me through. I was truly miserable by then, and sick of being stalked by some white creep with a thing for pregnant women. It was a good thing he didn’t lash out in turn, but in all honesty, I think he was just scared of accidentally hurting the baby, not me. He scowled though, for all he was worth, with that same cat-eyed stare that made me shiver worse than when I’m hit by a sudden chill,” She pauses abruptly, rubbing incessantly at her arms. “Speaking of which, and I don't mean to be rude, but can we </span>
  <em>
    <span>please </span>
  </em>
  <span>turn on the heat or at least shut the window? It’s absolutely </span>
  <em>
    <span>freezing</span>
  </em>
  <span> in here!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sorry to say, but the heating is broken at the moment; one of the boys busted the heater, though I’ve no idea which one,” Gertrude gives her office door an accusing glare, practically </span>
  <em>
    <span>feeling</span>
  </em>
  <span> both her assistants wince on the other side, even if they don’t know what they’ve done to piss off their boss this time. “As for the window, that also can’t be helped, as the air gets dreadfully dry if we don't keep it open during business hours.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Drat,” Delores mutters, careful not to curse this time; she probably overheard her scolding Gerard for his bad language earlier. “Anyways, where was I? Oh right, I-” She gets cut off again, this time by Gertrude standing up and unceremoniously tucking her quilt around her. “M-Mrs. Robinson!? Are you </span>
  <em>
    <span>sure?</span>
  </em>
  <span> I don’t want you any colder than me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m used to it,” Gertrude says, because even if she </span>
  <em>
    <span>does</span>
  </em>
  <span> despise the cold, her client needs all the comfort she can get right now. “So, as you were saying. The stalker wants to take your child, yes?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Delores nods, uneasy but at least a little warmer. “Yes, that’s right. After he cleaned himself up of the blood, he was a bit snippy, saying it was rude to hit someone who was only trying to help, though I didn’t fall for his trick; I was </span>
  <em>
    <span>not</span>
  </em>
  <span> about to be guilt-tripped by someone who has clearly been harassing me! In any case, he continued on about the baby, saying that once he was born, he would be happy to take him off my hands. He… he offered me an </span>
  <em>
    <span>unbelievable</span>
  </em>
  <span> amount for them. Honestly, I thought I might faint! And yet… this child, no matter who they’ll be when they grow up, is all I have left of my Xander. And besides, I am </span>
  <em>
    <span>not </span>
  </em>
  <span>about to</span>
  <em>
    <span> sell them </span>
  </em>
  <span>to a bloody </span>
  <em>
    <span>creep! </span>
  </em>
  <span>So I told him to shove off,” Delores takes a breath, eyes unfocused as she averts them from Gertrude's face, staring listlessly at a nearby wall instead. “I half expected him to kill me, or at least throw me out of his limo, but instead he just… he just kept smiling, and then he laughed. He had such a </span>
  <em>
    <span>strange</span>
  </em>
  <span> laugh, like something out of a horror movie, but not quite so… </span>
  <em>
    <span>deliberate?</span>
  </em>
  <span> I’m not sure how to put it into words.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gertrude knows how, but she won’t give it a try, not when Delores is still talking.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Once he’d finished what I can only describe as the laugh of a supervillain, he told me that I would change my mind later, after I’d, as he put it, </span>
  <em>
    <span>‘overcome my grief’,</span>
  </em>
  <span> which I assume was another dig at Xander… and then he gave me his business card and dropped me off in front of the house,” Delores sighs as she pulls out a small, white piece of paper, Gertrude knowing what it says before it’s even given to her. “It may seem foolish, to go to someone who works for him about this, but I had a dream last night, and he… he was</span>
  <em>
    <span> there,</span>
  </em>
  <span> and he just kept </span>
  <em>
    <span>watching me.</span>
  </em>
  <span> He only looked away when, suddenly, there was a loud noise, and when we both turned to see what it was… there you were. He seemed </span>
  <em>
    <span>scared</span>
  </em>
  <span> of you, like you were a judge wielding an executioner's axe, and without a word he ran. You </span>
  <em>
    <span>must</span>
  </em>
  <span> understand, last night was the first night in weeks that I’ve slept anywhere close to well. He’s been in my dreams so often, I thought I’d </span>
  <em>
    <span>never</span>
  </em>
  <span> escape him, but whether you realize it or not, you scared him away last night, and I want to believe you can do that again. And, even if you can’t, and you plan on telling him what I’ve told you, </span>
  <em>
    <span>please</span>
  </em>
  <span> don’t. I can’t offer you hush money or anything of the like, but… please, for the sake of my child, don’t let him </span>
  <em>
    <span>win.</span>
  </em>
  <span> I don’t know what he plans on doing with them once they’re born, but whatever it is, it won’t be good.” At long last, she hands Gertrude the business card, using her now free hands to wipe off her face, which is slick with fresh tears.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gertrude’s eyebrows furrow as she stares down at the familiar business card, though a newfound unease strikes her as she reads a special note that’s been written on it for her guest.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Elias Bouchard, Head of the Magnus Institute, London</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Phone: XXX-XXX-XXXX</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>See you again on October 26th of this year, Mrs. Delores Sims. I am very much looking forward to meeting your son. Until then, I implore you to reconsider my offer, as I might not be as generous next time we meet. Sincerely yours, Elias.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>The archivist bites back a sigh, glancing up from the business card to see both Gerard and Michael hovering in the now open doorway, the boys wearing a matching pair of worried expressions on their faces. They must've felt the shift in moods through their separate connections to their boss.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Michael, please see Mrs. Sims back to her home. It isn’t a far drive at all, and I won’t count it for any of your break time; I only want to make sure Mrs. Sims will be safe getting home,” Gertrude is eerily calm as she gives the order, not wanting either of her assistants to realize just how serious Delores’s situation is until she’s gone. She then turns to the woman in question, her smile genuinely sympathetic when looking at her, all too aware that she’s doomed. “You’ll be alright, Delores… I won’t let anything bad happen to you or your son, but I need you to trust me moving forward, understand? Here, contact me if your stalker does anything else out of character. Either way, we’ll be in touch.” She’s careful not to call Elias by name in front of Michael and Gerard as she hands her own business card to Delores, having to fight not to let her hand tremble with anxiety.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I will,” Delores promises, her eyes wet but full of defiance. At least she won’t be going down without a fight. “Thank you again for letting me give my statement, Mrs. Robinson.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Anytime, dear.” Gertrude says, waving Delores off as Michael helps her to her feet, the assistant dutifully guiding her out.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As soon as the door to the archives closes, Gerard gives Gertrude the most concerned look she’s ever seen on his face, and once again, she is reminded of the boy’s late father.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I didn’t hear everything, but this sounds really bad, boss,” Gerard is nothing if not blunt, especially when talking to Gertrude. It’s one of the reasons she likes him so much, even if he </span>
  <em>
    <span>does</span>
  </em>
  <span> sometimes have all of the forethought of a soldier fresh out of basic training. “Who do you think is stalking Mrs. Sims?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gertrude is tempted not to tell him, but now that Michael is gone, she actually feels safe to. “Elias.” She says, plain and simple.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gerard’s eyes go impossibly wide. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Such an express young man. </span>
  </em>
  <span>“Damn.” He says, his response just as simple as his boss’s answer.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Language,” Gertrude repeats her order from earlier, though without nearly as much of a scolding tone. “And yes, this is… </span>
  <em>
    <span>very</span>
  </em>
  <span> bad indeed,” It’s rare that she will admit such a thing out loud, but she hopes it will be enough to imprint how serious this is on Gerard. After all, she can’t have him going after Elias himself, because she </span>
  <em>
    <span>knows</span>
  </em>
  <span> he damn well would, if given enough motivation. “Under no circumstances is Elias to find out about this, understand? He’ll know she was here, I’m sure, but as far as he’s allowed to know, she only gave a written statement that I haven’t gotten around to reading yet. I doubt such a ploy will last forever, but I need more time to investigate this before he intervenes.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Gotcha,” Gerard says, already taking Gertrude’s notepad so he can look it over and copy the statement in his own handwriting. After all, Elias can't know that Gertrude wrote it first. “Anything else you need from me?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes, don’t let Michael know what's going on,” Gertrude orders, tensing up as she sees her assistant's mouth form a grimace. She adores Gerard, she really does, but she knows he has a crush on her other assistant, and she can’t risk him running his mouth about this to someone so… </span>
  <em>
    <span>naive</span>
  </em>
  <span> is the best way to put it, or maybe sheltered. Either way, Michael doesn’t need to be involved in this one. “I mean it, Gerard; you </span>
  <em>
    <span>cannot </span>
  </em>
  <span>let Michael know about </span>
  <em>
    <span>any </span>
  </em>
  <span>of this yet. If he asks, tell him that Mrs. Sims is going through a lot after the death of her husband, and that I am providing her with counseling as she grieves. Also, I’d like you to check on her as much as you can. I don’t want to imagine this getting any worse in the next few weeks, but I’m certain it will, and I need someone I can count on to keep Delores and her unborn child safe.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gerard nods, quiet as he takes it all in. Slowly, he meets Gertrude’s eyes, his own cloudy with trepidation. “So… how far do you think this is gonna go, boss? What do you think your boss </span>
  <em>
    <span>wants </span>
  </em>
  <span>with this baby?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gertrude averts her gaze, not wanting Gerard to see his own uncertainty mirrored in her eyes. “In all sincerity? I’m almost too scared to find out, but if I had to guess, I’d say this is only the beginning of what will likely be a </span>
  <em>
    <span>very </span>
  </em>
  <span>long year,” She stands up, smoothing out her long skirt as she does so. “Be careful moving forward, Gerard. I don’t know exactly what we’re facing, but whatever is, it’s not going to end without a bang.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gerard nods again, and for a moment, Gertrude can see his hands open and close, open and close, as if he wants something from her. Does he… does want a hu- “I’ll start looking into our mystery fog man,” He says, interrupting Gertrude’s train of thought before it can reach the destination. “My guess is it’s one of Lukases, but there’s no harm in checking around, making sure there are no Leitners involved.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Good idea. I’ll look into this as well on my own time,” Gertrude all but sighs, already feeling herself about to lose several much needed hours of sleep to this case. “I would look into it now, but I shouldn’t during business hours. With any luck, I can find out more when </span>
  <em>
    <span>he</span>
  </em>
  <span> isn’t paying as much attention.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Maybe try while he’s out stalking Mrs. Sims?” Gerard suggests, a slight glint of eagerness in his youthful eyes. “I can follow her around from a distance, let you know if I see him nearby so you can do what ya gotta.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gertrude smirks, a small hint of pride filling her chest. “That’s a brilliant idea, Gerard,” She says, tempted to pat him on the head, but she has no intention of patronizing the young man. “You’re dismissed for the evening. Do take care, won’t you? And remember what I said about not discussing this with Michael.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gerard rolls his eyes, more at ease as they move away from the subject of Delores. “Yeah yeah, I heard you the first time, boss,” He assures, tone just on the cusp of being purposefully mocking, but not quite. “Try not to have a heart attack from drinking all that sugary fucking tea while I'm gone.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“One of these days, I’m going to get a swear jar, and I’ll just throw your paycheck in it every payday.” Gertrude threatens, having to bite her lip to keep from smirking.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I get a </span>
  <em>
    <span>paycheck?</span>
  </em>
  <span> Funny, I don’t think I’ve ever gotten one. It must’ve gotten lost in the mail,” Gerard’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>definitely </span>
  </em>
  <span>playing around now, letting out that low, familiar laugh of his. Gertrude secretly wishes it sounded more like Eric’s. “You gonna put that jar right next to the</span>
  <em>
    <span> ‘be quiet’</span>
  </em>
  <span> and </span>
  <em>
    <span>‘no running’ </span>
  </em>
  <span>signs? Nevermind, I oughta stop nagging ya before ya turn me over your knee for back-talking,” He practically bolts for the door, as if he thinks Gertrude would actually make good on such a threat. “See ya on Monday, grandma!” With that, the door slams shut, his cackling laughter echoing from the other side, and while it doesn't sound like Eric's, at least it sounds like it's all his own.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gertrude let’s herself chuckle this time, shaking her head in exasperation. “I swear, that boy will drive me to an early grave… but you’d still be proud of him, wouldn’t you, Eric? Even if he </span>
  <em>
    <span>did </span>
  </em>
  <span>inherit your terrible sense of humor,” She starts to get out of her chair, ready to head out for her break, but she catches something glowing out of the corner of her eye. She glances to her left, spotting a tape recorder sitting innocently on her desk. The red button blinks every few seconds, confirming that it’s on. “What have we here… I know for a </span>
  <em>
    <span>fact </span>
  </em>
  <span>that I didn’t turn this on,” She says, picking up the recorder and looking it over in her hands. Flipping it over, the archivist is greeted by an even </span>
  <em>
    <span>bigger </span>
  </em>
  <span>surprise; there’s no batteries inside. “Hm… yes, that’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>very </span>
  </em>
  <span>strange indeed. Well, nothing a little arson can’t solve. Looks like you’ll be joining me for lunch.” Determined not to let it bother her, Gertrude tucks the tape recorder into her purse and leaves, prepared to go to her usual spot and take care of this little problem before anyone can find out about it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>At least the recorder burns like it ought to.</span>
</p><hr/><p>
  <span>Gertrude’s chance to get some decent information comes sooner than expected, though she’s inclined to believe this </span>
  <em>
    <span>isn’t </span>
  </em>
  <span>because she was somehow able to cover her tracks so that Elias won’t know she’s met with Delores. Oh </span>
  <em>
    <span>hell </span>
  </em>
  <span>no, he </span>
  <em>
    <span>absolutely </span>
  </em>
  <span>knows about that, even if he hasn’t said anything on the matter, not that his head archivist thinks he will. No, the only reason Gertrude has the opportunity to break into Elias’s office is because he isn’t in the institute right now, and shouldn’t be back until tomorrow morning. He’s got a meeting with his favorite Lukas- what was his name again? Peter? Such a forgettable bloke, just like everyone else in his fucked up family- and those meetings tend to take awhile. It’s nice that he’s visiting Peter this time, as now there’s nothing standing between Gertrude and his office.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Well, save for Rosie possibly asking what she’s up to, but Elias’s receptionist is such a sweet girl, she’s usually happy to let Gertrude do as she pleases, something the older woman secretly appreciates. About thirty minutes after Elias has left, and the weight of the Eye has lessened just enough that she doesn’t feel it on her shoulders anymore, the archivist heads out of her archive and upstairs, ignoring the few glances she receives as she makes her way to Elias’s office; the rest of the institute doesn’t see much of Gertrude these days, so she almost always earns a few stares when she bothers to leave what she knows people refer to as “The Dungeon.” In all sincerity, their stares bother her, not that it can really be helped at this point; she’s already made a name for herself as the creepy old hag of the institute.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Good afternoon, Mrs. Robinson!” Rosie greets Gertrude the minute she shows her face, the former of the two women wearing a warm, almost maternal smile on her face. “I’m afraid Mr. Bouchard isn’t here at the moment- I believe he’s out seeing Mr. Lukas today- is there anything I can help you with?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Elias asked me to retrieve something from his office, something about a statement I’ve been looking into,” The lie is a bit old hat, but Gertrude’s heard worse, namely from Michael when he’s forced to come up with something on the fly. “He sounded quite insistent that I come and get it. So sorry to bother you, dear, but could I please go retrieve what I need?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Rosie hesitates, expression contemplative. “Well… you know that Mr. Bouchard hates having anyone in his office when he isn’t here. Can this wait until tomorrow?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gertrude shakes her head. “Afraid not, dear. Again, I’m quite sorry about all of this. I meant to come up sooner, but the archives are so far downstairs, and my knees just aren’t what they used to be.” She says this all while subtly nursing a small wound on her calve, which she earned just last week from trying to outrun a werewolf, but hey, what Rosie doesn’t know shouldn’t kill her… </span>
  <em>
    <span>yet,</span>
  </em>
  <span> at least.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>This earns Gertrude a fair amount of sympathy, just as she expected; one of the few perks of reaching her fifties. “Oh, of course! There’s nothing to apologize for, Mrs. Robinson; lord knows that we really need an elevator in this place! Still, with Mr. Bouchard out… you know what? Go on ahead. If anyone is to blame here, it’s me or Elias. If I had known you were coming, I would’ve left out whatever he wanted to give you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gertrude simply nods along like a mindless old crone, following Rosie with forced unsteadiness, if only to really sell herself off as incompetent and fraile. “Don’t apologize, Rosie. Like you said, if anyone is to blame, it’s Elias,” She smiles as Rosie gets the door for her, giving the receptionist a curt nod as she scoots inside. “I’ll only be here for a short while. Thanks again for letting me in, dear.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Rosie smiles, closing the door behind her before returning to her desk. Gertrude, in the meantime, gives Elias’s office a careful once-over. It hasn’t changed much since James Wright kicked the bucket, save for a new nameplate and pieces of clutter, which the archivist chalks up to her boss being a bit of a hoarder, even if he’ll never admit it. Not that his predecessor was much better, as on almost every available surface there’s a number of hopefully benign artifacts that litter the room, the sight vaguely reminding Gertrude of her deceased father’s study. She shakes it off, though the feeling of being somewhere she’s not supposed to be when unsupervised is familiar, and although she doubts Elias can watch her as closely from where he’s at, she treads on light feet into the office, making a beeline for her boss’s desk.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Like the rest of his office, the desk is a bloody </span>
  <em>
    <span>mess,</span>
  </em>
  <span> covered in folded up papers and disorganized statements that make even the purposefully disorganized archivist wince; so much for this being simple. Gertrude opens the top drawer of the desk first, gloved fingers combing through the contents in search of anything akin to old parchment; despite supposedly being a young up and coming business owner, Elias has had a habit of using old fashioned parchment for most of his letters regarding the institute, and with any luck, Gertrude might be able to find one such unsent letter. To her gratitude, she finds one at the very back of the desk drawer, half crumbled and even a bit ripped along the edges. She takes it out, reading it over as quickly as she can.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>London, England. January 26th, 1987.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>My dear friend, Simon.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>It has been some time since I last wrote you a letter, hasn’t it? These things always seem to miss you, either lost in the post or gone in the wind as soon as you’re holding it. Can’t be helped though, especially when you’re under the rule of such a wanderlustful patron. In all seriousness, I write you this letter to thank you for your assistance in a rather personal, but still very important, matter. Just in case you forgot, when we last spoke at the Lukas family’s annual New Year’s celebration, you and I discussed the rise in “youthful” avatars, as the subject has interested me for many years now. You were the first to acquire one of this new generation- well over two decades after the Lightless Flame had Agnes, of course- and I couldn’t help but bombard you with questions about the child. That’s one of the many things I like about you, Simon; you’re good at letting me talk, even when you obviously don’t care about the subject. But you cared this time, didn’t you? After all, young Michael- or Mike, as I believe he likes to be called- is your pride and joy, as he very well should be, considering his incredible abilities; he’s hardly even six and already he can soar without your help!</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>The reason I’m mentioning this is because I have the grand pleasure to announce that I too will be acquiring my own young avatar soon. It can’t really be helped after all, now that Peter just had his little one, and I can only watch for so long before my patron insists on experiencing what it watches so ceaselessly. So yes, I am in the process of acquiring a ward, though this is no easy task. As many of our peers have learned, the summoning of such a powerful avatar from the ground up is quite difficult, as generations before us have either never tried, or lost the craft to time. In any case, I believe I’ve found a way to create a child marked from birth by the Eye’s gaze. I’ve spent the better part of this month digging through old statements, searching for anyone young who’s been touched by the Eye, and to my relief, I recently found a young man who was deeply marked by my patron in his youth. In all honesty, I’m tempted to hire him instead, as he certainly has the intelligence and curiosity to work here, but this man isn’t what I’m after. No, what I’m after is what he can create for me.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>As I’m sure you’re aware by now, those marked by our patrons carry that mark throughout their entire lives, and whether they realize it or not, they place at least a fraction of that mark on their offspring. This typically results in early encounters with the supernatural for those unlucky children, but I intend on finding a way to “grow” the mark. I’m unsure of how to explain this, though even if I could, I’m uncertain if I would share such information with you; can’t have you and the others ruining this for me, after all. Like I said, the man I am currently watching is perfect for my intentions, as his mark is very strong, and will leave a sizable imprint on any children he may have. It’s so strong in fact that I believe his wife has been marked as well, though not nearly as prominently, and if my patron’s gaze has not failed me, she has just recently conceived, and shall be delivering the child by late October of this year. I’m unsure of the exact date she’ll give birth- I’ll have to meet with her to find out- but in any case, I will soon be disposing of her husband, and once he is rid of, I shall perform my own little performance of a “ritual” to keep her and the child imprinted, giving them both a chance to be watched by my patron. If all goes according to plan, you shall be meeting my ward by next Thanksgiving, where I would love to discuss plans moving forward.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Until we meet again, sincerely yours, Elias Bouchard.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Gertrude stares at the parchment in her hands with an expression she prays is undeterred and free of all tells, but she knows she’s shaking, and she can only imagine how she would look to a voyeur (not that she needs to wonder, when she’s always being watched, and sometimes doing the watching). She always wondered if the Eye would follow the leads of so many other entities, who have so viciously and unlovingly dragged and birthed innocent children into their games, but she always hoped that the watcher was too placid to do such a thing, too preoccupied with the dance to participate in it. How foolish of her. Gertrude’s tempted to keep the letter as evidence, though for who, she has no idea, as the police would be no help to her here, and she already knows that her assistants would follow her to the ends of the earth if she asked them to.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Maybe for Delores? No, such a thing would only make her more afraid, and with the Eye being so focused on her already, she has enough paranoia to deal with without someone she sees as a friend making it worse. In the end, Gertrude shoves the letter back where she found it, not wanting to be caught red-handed. She figures Elias will figure out she was in here eventually, but no need to make it sooner than absolutely necessary. So, what does she do now? It’s clear that Elias has already set his plans in motion, and with Alexander Sims already being dead and the child growing in Delores’s body… it’s too late to stop it. Well, Gertrude could always make Delores miscarry, but despite all she’s done in her job as the archivist, she doesn’t think she could do something quite like that. If she can’t kill the baby, or get rid of their mark, then maybe… maybe she could take care of them instead.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The very thought makes Gertrude uneasy, and not just because she’s never wanted to be a mother. Well no, that’s not </span>
  <em>
    <span>entirely </span>
  </em>
  <span>true. She’s wanted kids in the past, but with her position as head archivist, and her genuine lack of interest in dating, such thoughts eventually petered out and lessened over the course of several years, though she must admit that having Michael and Gerard around make her feel… </span>
  <em>
    <span>maternal,</span>
  </em>
  <span> in a way. She still doesn’t think she wants to take care of a newborn infant, but it’s not like anyone else could take them in. Delores obviously already loves her child, but with Elias after her, there’s no hope of being able to hide them both in the same place. Maybe Michael or Gerard could take the kid in, but with Michael being marked by the Eye and Gerard well on his way, they wouldn’t be much better.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gertrude, at least, has ways of not being seen. She knows she won’t be able to hide the child forever, won’t be able to provide a great life for them, but </span>
  <em>
    <span>surely </span>
  </em>
  <span>she could take care of them long enough to find a way to remove the mark. And then, once it’s off, the little one can go back home to his mother, and Gertrude can help erase them from the Eye’s sight. Everyone would win but Elias, just as they should, and yet… a bone-deep sense of Knowing hits the archivist like a truck, her shoulders quivering even with her cardigan wrapped tightly around her bony frame. It’s too late. No matter what she does, this child will be that of the Eye, and it will See and Know and Ask Questions that must be Answered. They will see through it all, and god forbid anyone who might try to blind them.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gertrude leans her hands on Elias’s desk, her head aching with newfound pain. Even if it is too late, she won’t just stand by and watch like her patron always begs her to; she </span>
  <em>
    <span>will </span>
  </em>
  <span>intervene, even if it’s just to remind Elias that he isn’t as powerful as he thinks he is. But first, she could really use a cup of tea, and then maybe a short nap… she could </span>
  <em>
    <span>really </span>
  </em>
  <span>use some time to think.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Don't Let Me Go</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I am in hell because I have officially gotten attached to my interpretation of Jon’s Mom, and now I’m gonna feel extra bad about having her go through so much shit… oh well, at least Jon inherited her badassery (to a degree), but mostly he just got her eyes (again, to a degree) and her short height. Also:</p><p>Gertrude: And we were bonded to each other.<br/>Me: Oh my god, they were bonded to each other.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>It’s almost always cold in London; that’s just something Gertrude has accepted over the years. She doesn’t like it, mind you, but she’s lived here for so long, it seems trivial to get as frustrated about it as she did when she was a girl. Still, she has to admit that by the time mid-spring hits, most of that bone-chilling freeze in the air is gone, and is replaced by a pleasant sort of warmth that only gets disturbed by the occasional breeze. It’s one of the few reasons she even </span>
  <em>
    <span>agreed </span>
  </em>
  <span>to this silly little outing with Agnes, dressed in what she thinks is a ridiculous sundress and matching hat, with her accomplice wearing a very similar get-up. Usually she would’ve said no, would’ve insisted that the two of them meet at their usual spot at the cafe, but Agnes is nothing if not stubborn in what she wants, and what she </span>
  <em>
    <span>wants </span>
  </em>
  <span>is a long walk in the park with her archivist, and as usual, Gertrude finds it impeccably hard to tell her no.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The two women walk side by side through one of the largest parks in London, surrounded by numerous tourists, couples, and families all going about their day in a similar fashion, none of them realizing how dangerous the seemingly innocent women nearby are. Agnes smiles as she walks, more than once reaching to hold Gertrude’s hand, but she always remembers to pull back at the last minute, lest she accidentally burn her only friend. The archivist, in the meantime, feels dreadfully out of place, more accustomed to traveling this park in the dead of night while looking for monsters and other such dangers to society. Perhaps it’s ironic then that she’s walking beside one such creature, but Gertrude is of the firm opinion that sometimes it really pays to be friends with a few of the monsters under your bed, as they might be inclined to kill off the less agreeable ones. She only hopes that Agnes is willing to help with this particular nightmare.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Such a lovely day for a stroll,” Agnes says, her voice lacking much inflection, but Gertrude can still hear the happiness that seeps from within it. “It must be nice to finally get out of that stuffy archive of yours.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I suppose so, yes,” Gertrude can’t help but walk closer to Agnes, the warmth radiating off of her enough to stifle any of the remaining chill in the air. “Though, I think I would have preferred meeting with you somewhere a little less…</span>
  <em>
    <span> public.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh? And why’s that? Need someone to be taken care of again?” Agnes asks this so casually, it’s as if they’re talking about the weather and not cold-blooded murder. Although, anything regarding Agnes could never be considered </span>
  <em>
    <span>cold.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Nothing quite that grizzly. No, I’m afraid this is a much more… </span>
  <em>
    <span>emotional </span>
  </em>
  <span>issue, though it’s still very dangerous.” Gertrude finds that that’s the easiest way to explain her predicament, otherwise she can’t.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Agnes chuckles, her laughter sounding soft and airy, like a flame that’s just begun to rise. “And you really think </span>
  <em>
    <span>I </span>
  </em>
  <span>could be of any help?” She asks, genuinely curious.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She has a point. Gertrude may be the less bubbly of the two women, but Agnes is easily the more reserved, having hardly any contact with the outside world, save for when she’s made to burn a part of it down to ash. “I honestly don’t think there’s anyone else I </span>
  <em>
    <span>could </span>
  </em>
  <span>go to with this… save possibly for Simon, but I don’t trust that man anymore than I trust a Leitner,” Gertrude takes a deep breath, as she has a feeling Agnes won’t take this very well. “Elias has decided to create an archivist from scratch by marking a pregnant woman and her child, and unfortunately, it’s worked. The child will be born in late October.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Agnes doesn’t even blink, though a nearby bush </span>
  <em>
    <span>does </span>
  </em>
  <span>burst into flames, much to the horror of a few bystanders. “That isn’t good,” She says, again not showing much emotion in her voice. “And you’re </span>
  <em>
    <span>certain </span>
  </em>
  <span>nothing can be done to stop it?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes, I’ve tried everything I can without killing the mother and her child, as I’m afraid I can’t… really </span>
  <em>
    <span>do that,</span>
  </em>
  <span> at this point.” Gertrude averts her eyes, feeling almost embarrassed, as Agnes has never known her to not simply destroy everything related to a problem.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>To the archivist’s surprise, Agnes chuckles at this. “You always </span>
  <em>
    <span>were </span>
  </em>
  <span>a bit of a softie, even if you’ll never admit it.” She teases, a small smile spreading across her face.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gertrude blushes, turning her head away to try and hide it, but she has a feeling that Agnes can see her blush either way; after all, she’s never been good at hiding things from her. “That isn’t the point,” She snaps, intent on moving this conversation along. “My </span>
  <em>
    <span>problem </span>
  </em>
  <span>is that I can’t let Elias take the child, but I also don’t know how to prepare Delores on how to raise them if they’re born a fully-realized archivist, something I’m slowly beginning to realize is inevitable.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Agnes nods once Gertrude is done, her eyes distant and hazy. “…Did I ever tell you about my mum?” She asks, tone soft and pliant.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gertrude freezes mid-step, caught off-guard by the question. “I… don’t think so, no. Why do you ask?” She has a feeling as to why, but she’ll let Agnes speak for herself; she knows how much her bondmate hates having other people say how she feels.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Agnes doesn’t respond right away, motioning instead to a nearby park bench that’s recently been vacated. The taller woman sits down first, patting the spot beside her with an air of fondness, and Gertrude, despite her apprehension, takes a seat next to Agnes without anymore prompting, comfortable enough around her bondmate to be close to her, even at the risk of getting burnt. “Truth be told, I don’t know all that much about my mum,” Agnes explains, coming off as more relaxed now that she can sit down. “Eugene told me she was a devoted follower of the flame, that she would do </span>
  <em>
    <span>anything </span>
  </em>
  <span>for her god… even kill herself like she’d killed so many others, if it meant birthing a messiah. That’s how I came to be; my father was already dead when my mother decided to sacrifice herself to the flame, so I was going to grow up an orphan. But not… </span>
  <em>
    <span>entirely,</span>
  </em>
  <span> I suppose. Eugene and the others made for a suitable enough family, if not a bit strict. In any case, when my mum went into labor with me, the cult set her aflame in a massive pyre of wood, and once the flames died down, all that was left was me, seemingly untouched by the fire that had welcomed me into this world,” Agnes takes a deep breath, and for the first time, Gertrude thinks the redhead might actually cry. “I… I don’t know how to feel about my mum. I want to miss her, to </span>
  <em>
    <span>remember </span>
  </em>
  <span>her maybe, but I just don’t.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gertrude waits a few seconds to respond, just in case Agnes plans on saying anything else about her mum. “Why are you telling me this?” She asks, not really knowing why her throat feels clogged, why her eyes are getting wet, but she chooses to blame it on the bond.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m telling you this because the mother of the Eye’s chosen child is unlikely to survive, my anchor,” Agnes says, plain and simple. She smiles at Gertrude, but it holds no joy, just a deep, mournful sort of sadness for someone she doesn’t even know. “I doubt the Eye could bring a child into this world as violently as the Desolation managed to, but my point still stands; raising an avatar of </span>
  <em>
    <span>any </span>
  </em>
  <span>kind is a group effort,” She suddenly chuckles, and again, it doesn’t come off as all that happy. “For example, look at the new Lukas boy. Did you hear that he made his nanny disappear into the Lonely? And to think, that’s the sort of avatar you would </span>
  <em>
    <span>expect </span>
  </em>
  <span>to be raised by only one or two guardians.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Fuck, that’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>right.</span>
  </em>
  <span> Ever since Agnes’s origins have come to light (no pun intended), news between the followers of the other entities has become a bit more… </span>
  <em>
    <span>open,</span>
  </em>
  <span> in a way. Everyone still has their little secrets, mind you, but if something </span>
  <em>
    <span>big </span>
  </em>
  <span>happens, like two entities duking it out somewhere public or an entity fucking up a ritual, it travels fast as lightning down the grapevine, and most anyone who’s anyone knows about it by sundown. Gertrude can’t say she </span>
  <em>
    <span>always </span>
  </em>
  <span>appreciates her enemies being so open, as it makes getting the drop on them that much harder, but it </span>
  <em>
    <span>does </span>
  </em>
  <span>at least keep </span>
  <em>
    <span>everything </span>
  </em>
  <span>from being a secret. And like Agnes said, the Lukas family incident is pretty big news right now. They’ve got a one year old avatar in the making, unlike any of the heirs before him- what was the kid’s name again? Martin?- which of course means they’ve been having to deal with the unforeseen side-effects of raising a young, Lonely avatar.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>In all honesty, Gertrude was pretty taken aback when she first heard about this incident from Elias, who was able to give her the full story since he’s apparently dating Peter again (she gives it a month at most before they break up again). Reportedly, baby Martin has been a very clingy child, and in an effort to stifle this, Peter thought it would be a good idea to swap out the boy’s nannies more often. This, unfortunately, led to the toddler having a full-blown tantrum, which apparently was enough to spark him into using the abilities gifted to him by the Lonely. Martin managed to force three people- one of which was an older Lukas- into the fog, and none of the Lukases have been able to find them yet. This has proven that while this new generation of artificially created avatars is indeed more powerful than any avatars before them, they’re also very unpredictable, and need to be handled with care. As a result of Martin’s meltdown, apparently Peter has been forced to raise the boy by hand, something Gertrude can tell he hates.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>So… if an avatar of the</span>
  <em>
    <span> Lonely,</span>
  </em>
  <span> a being that is meant to be able to take care of itself from a very early age, is in need of more than one caregiver, then a child of the Eye probably won’t fare much better, now will they? Even so, what else can Gertrude </span>
  <em>
    <span>do?</span>
  </em>
  <span> Well, she </span>
  <em>
    <span>could </span>
  </em>
  <span>take the child and raise them by herself, with maybe a bit of help from Gerard, Michael, and Adelard, but then what about </span>
  <em>
    <span>Delores?</span>
  </em>
  <span> Would it even be </span>
  <em>
    <span>safe </span>
  </em>
  <span>for her to be involved if the child is as powerful as the newborns before them? From the few interactions Gertrude’s had with the younger woman so far, she can already tell that Delores loves her unborn child with every fiber of her being, and would do anything to keep them safe, happy, and loved… even give them up, if need be. It would kill her inside to do so, but sometimes, mothers must make such sacrifices. Perhaps these are the sort of thoughts that plagued Agnes’s mother? Maybe.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“This is… going to be a lot </span>
  <em>
    <span>harder </span>
  </em>
  <span>than I wanted it to be,” Gertrude says after a couple long, thoughtful minutes. She can’t bring herself to look at Agnes right away, half scared that her bondmate will see the hesitation in her eyes. “I suppose it’s my own fault, though… for getting involved, and more frustratingly, emotionally invested.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Like I said, you’ve always been a softie, my anchor,” Agnes whispers, and without warning, she takes Gertrude’s cane and positions it under the older woman’s chin, using it to maneuver her face just so. Agnes turns Gertrude’s chin up so she can meet her gaze, her eyes full of a fire so bright and brilliant, it makes the archivist shiver. She smiles, small but heartfelt, as she looks upon her bondmate. “You’re </span>
  <em>
    <span>sensitive… </span>
  </em>
  <span>what a lovely thing to be. I wish I could love people as much as you do,” She tilts her head ever so slightly at her anchor, feigning curiosity. “Don’t hate yourself for loving people, Trudy… isn’t that why you’re doing all of this? To </span>
  <em>
    <span>help </span>
  </em>
  <span>people? I wish I had such a noble cause to keep </span>
  <em>
    <span>me </span>
  </em>
  <span>going.”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Don’t call me that,”</span>
  </em>
  <span> Is what Gertrude </span>
  <em>
    <span>wants</span>
  </em>
  <span> to say, knows she <em>should</em> say, but something catches in her throat, and for a moment she’s paralyzed, staring into the amber orbs of her bondmate. Finally, she manages to gather herself, though her voice still comes out a bit choppy. “Y-Yes, well… </span>
  <em>
    <span>someone </span>
  </em>
  <span>has to care about the world, and if no one else will… then </span>
  <em>
    <span>I </span>
  </em>
  <span>will. Even if it kills me,” She says, low and listless, like she can’t quite remember what brought her here, mostly just registering how nice it feels to be around Agnes. “But this isn’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>about </span>
  </em>
  <span>me, not really. This is about Delores and her child.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Her name is Delores?” Agnes asks, smiling that usual placid smile of hers again as she backs off, setting Gertrude’s cane back on the bench; her handprint is burnt into the handle. “What a </span>
  <em>
    <span>lovely </span>
  </em>
  <span>name… is she pretty?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gertrude doesn’t know why that makes her blush, but it does. “A little bit, yes,” She admits, feeling almost guilty, but she’s never known Agnes to be all that jealous, so she doesn’t think it’s dangerous to talk about this with her. “She’s far too curious for her own good, though… Gerard’s had to stop her more than once now from walking directly into danger, all because she isn’t willing to take anything </span>
  <em>
    <span>‘lying down’</span>
  </em>
  <span> as she puts it. Such a </span>
  <em>
    <span>stubborn </span>
  </em>
  <span>woman.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Agnes chuckles, smiling a bit wider. “She sounds like you when you were younger,” She comments, earning herself a short glare. This only makes her giggle harder, amused by Gertrude’s reaction. “Don’t pretend I’m not right, my anchor. Do you have </span>
  <em>
    <span>any </span>
  </em>
  <span>idea how many times I’ve had to run after you because you thought it would be a good idea to catapulte yourself straight into a ritual? I’m honestly glad you’ve mellowed out a bit, even if you </span>
  <em>
    <span>are </span>
  </em>
  <span>a tad boring nowadays.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I was young, and I didn’t understand just how dangerous the entities were back then,” Gertrude explains, wanting to make excuses for her younger, more naive self. She was indeed a reckless girl, but she was just trying to learn, and no one can fault her for that. “Suppose it is a good thing I’ve always had you and Adelard there to help me along… even if I </span>
  <em>
    <span>did </span>
  </em>
  <span>get you both hurt a lot.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Nothing the flames haven’t healed,” Agnes says, undeterred by the reminder. “And that Adelard fellow, I have a feeling he doesn’t mind getting a bit roughed up sometimes, especially if it’s to protect you and your assistants.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gertrude’s tempted to say otherwise, but they’re getting off-topic, and the Eye only knows how long she has until someone of the Lightless Flame comes looking for their lost ember. “Do you have any advice on how to… </span>
  <em>
    <span>take care</span>
  </em>
  <span> of a young avatar?” She asks, even if she doubts Agnes can give her as much advice as she needs. “Sorry to put you on the spot, it’s just… well, like I said, you’re one of the few people I can actually talk to about this, and frankly, you’re the only one of them that I trust.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Advice? Hm, well…” Agnes trails off, idly kicking her feet against the ground as she thinks. It’s admittedly a very cute quirk of hers, at least in Gertrude’s opinion. “They’re going to be an avatar of the Eye, so I can only assume they’ll ask a lot of questions. I guess you’d better get one of those mobile phones, if only so you can give them satisfactory answers on the fly. Did you know they can access the internet now? Makes me wish I could have one, but they keep… </span>
  <em>
    <span>melting,</span>
  </em>
  <span> obviously.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gertrude nods, going so far as to take out her notebook and jot down what she can. “I </span>
  <em>
    <span>have </span>
  </em>
  <span>been meaning to get a phone, especially since Adelard just got one and keeps pestering me to do the same… it wouldn’t kill me to get one of the newer ones, even if they are </span>
  <em>
    <span>bloody </span>
  </em>
  <span>expensive,” She can’t keep back a slight smile now, having always found it hard not to feel lighter on her feet when she’s around Agnes. “On that note, I should probably look into expanding my home’s library, if only so I’ll have something to keep the boy occupied when I’m too busy to entertain him.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Agnes perks up a bit. “A boy? So you already know what the child will begin as?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gertrude isn’t bothered by the way Agnes phrases her question; after all, she already knows Agnes is transgender, and she’s never been bothered by it, even if she </span>
  <em>
    <span>does </span>
  </em>
  <span>feel embarrassed when she doesn’t know as much LGBT terminology as her bondmate. She’s still humiliated by the fact that she thought that the lesbian flag was for a European country. “Yes, Elias told Delores that her child would be born a boy, and as he’s quite proficient in his </span>
  <em>
    <span>Gaze… </span>
  </em>
  <span>I have no reason to doubt him.” She explains, trying to move her mind away from the embarrassing memory.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How exciting,” Agnes says with no real excitement in her voice. “What do you plan on naming him, when he comes to be?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, I don’t think </span>
  <em>
    <span>I’ll </span>
  </em>
  <span>be the one naming him. I at least owe Delores the chance to name her child,” Gertrude sighs as she stares at her feet, a deep sense of shame filling her insides. “Dear god, how am I going to tell her? It’s going to break her heart. She’s already lost </span>
  <em>
    <span>so much,</span>
  </em>
  <span> I can hardly imagine she’ll take another blow well.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“If there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s that life is full of death, choices, loss, gains, happiness, and tragedy… nothing ever goes as we planned, but I think that’s okay. This Delores woman, she sounds kind, and even if it hurts her, I think she’ll do what she knows is right,” Agnes manages a chuckle, eyes slightly wet, but the tears evaporate so fast, Gertrude would’ve missed them if she’d been looking away for even a second. “I know I’m not exactly a friend to this woman, or anyone really, and I </span>
  <em>
    <span>do </span>
  </em>
  <span>feed off the despair of others, but… I wish her the best. I usually want things to go wrong for the people around me, so I can maybe get an easy meal, but this time… this time, I hope she’ll be okay.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gertrude finds herself smiling, wanting nothing more in that moment than to lay her head on Agnes’s shoulder and tell her how much she loves her, but she knows that can’t happen. Maybe in another life, things could have been different between them, but not in this one, and they just have to deal with it, even if it hurts. “Thank you, Agnes,” She whispers instead of saying what’s really on her mind, and taking a chance, she grabs hold of the end of Agnes’s dress, trying to be closer to her when she knows she can’t be. “I really appreciate that… once the child’s born, I hope you’ll be able to meet them.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And Agnes smiles, bright and warm and enough to make it seem like everything will be okay, even when the archivist </span>
  <em>
    <span>Knows </span>
  </em>
  <span>it won’t be. “Thank you, my anchor… I’d really, </span>
  <em>
    <span>really </span>
  </em>
  <span>love that.”</span>
</p><hr/><p>
  <span>It’s another long month of planning before Gertrude sees Delores again. She does, after all, need to make sure that she isn’t going into this blind, and it would be better for everyone if she did her homework, even if that homework </span>
  <em>
    <span>does </span>
  </em>
  <span>involve reading a number of child psychology textbooks. Michael’s been the most helpful of her assistants regarding her new reading habits, making an effort to help his boss collect all of the best books on the subject (something Gerard’s also helped with) and even reading them after she’s done, giving her the chance to discuss her findings with someone who knows what she’s talking about. Not for the first time, Gertrude is thankful for the fact that Michael is nothing if not an eager to please, dreadfully kind boy that’s just a tad too naive for his own good. He’s smart though, and at the end of the day, sometimes what she needs is someone who’s just plain intelligent.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>For this reason and this reason alone, Gertrude is driving with Michael to visit Delores in her house in uptown London. Usually she likes to bring Gerard along for her little </span>
  <em>
    <span>“field trips”</span>
  </em>
  <span> as Adelard and her like to call them, but the boy smokes damn near a pack a day, and with Delores being pregnant </span>
  <em>
    <span>and </span>
  </em>
  <span>asthmatic… it’s best for him to just keep following her and Elias from afar, at least until he bothers to wash the smoke out of his clothes, something Gertrude doubts he’ll do anytime soon. In the meantime, Michael’s eagerness is becoming more and more apparent as he drives himself and his boss towards Delores’s house, the man rambling on and on about something he researched on childcare the day before, but Gertrude mostly just tunes him out, too preoccupied with thoughts of the night ahead to pay attention to his latest infodump.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Mrs. R-Robinson? Mrs. Robinson, I th-think we’re here,” The insistence in Michael’s voice is what breaks Gertrude from her internal monologue, the tall blond sticking his head out the driver’s side window as he squints at a nearby house, his tongue slightly poking out as he reads the numbers on the mailbox. </span>
  <em>
    <span>“Hm…</span>
  </em>
  <span> yep, th-this is the one!” He cheers, hopping out of the car quickly so he can run to the other side and get Gertrude’s door for her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She let’s him, even accepting the arm he offers her as the two of them make their way up the house’s walkway. It’s a nice place, decently big and in a good neighborhood. A bit on the fancy side, but such is to be expected from a household that was once partially financed by the income of an editor of a major newspaper. “Now Michael, I need you to restrain yourself from asking too many questions while we’re inside, understand? Mrs. Sims is still very much grieving, and she doesn’t need to be bombarded during this trying time for her. </span>
  <em>
    <span>I’ll </span>
  </em>
  <span>do most of the talking.” Gertrude gives the instructions in a warm yet still stern tone, if only so Michael won’t take her order as a suggestion.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Michael nods, these instructions not the least bit unfamiliar to him, especially when he goes on field trips with his boss. “G-Got it, Mrs. Robinson! You’ll h-hardly even know I’m, uh, here!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gertrude’s tempted to roll her eyes, but she keeps herself from doing so in order to keep from upsetting the boy. She vaguely remembers Delores mentioning a cat in her statement, and if it’s still alive, then she hopes it’ll be enough to keep Michael distracted for the night; better to have him playing with a cute animal than getting underfoot, or even worse, realizing how serious Mrs. Sims’s situation has become. When she and Michael finally reach the door, Gertrude pauses, hand hesitating over the smooth, polished wood, but she soon shakes it off and knocks, the sound echoing louder than she expected it to. There’s a bit of a commotion from the other side of the door, and without really meaning to, both she and Michael go tense with anticipation, subconsciously reaching for whatever they have that can be used as a weapon on such short notice.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s not often that Gertrude gets caught off-guard these days, but she still has her moments, as all people do, leading her to carry at least one weapon on her at all times. She holds her cane in a death-grip, her thumb subconsciously tracing the groove that can disconnect and reveal a long, sharpened sword from inside the fake cane. If worse comes to worse, she can shove Michael out of the way and get a few swings in before whatever might be in the house has the chance to get her first. However, Gertrude’s worries prove unnecessary when, a few seconds later, a disheveled looking Delores Sims pulls the door open and stands in the doorway, trying and failing to look casual as she leans on it for support. She isn’t exactly huge with the baby yet, but the fatigue of pregnancy has clearly taken it’s toll on her since she last met with Gertrude.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sorry if I look a mess, Mrs. Gertrude,” Delores tries to sound more put-together when she speaks, but it’s painfully obvious how tired she is. Her hair is up in a messy bun on her head, and there’s a fair amount of cat hair on her apron, which she takes to subtly dusting off. “I’m afraid I didn’t get as much tidying up done as I had hoped, but… well, it can’t be helped. Please do come in, and feel free to hang your coat up wherever you’d like! Afraid I don’t have a proper coat hook, but the couch will do.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No need to apologize for anything, dear. Not like I gave you much time to prepare, now did I?” Gertrude is sympathetic as she scuttles inside, biting her lip in frustration when Michael immediately starts trying to help her take her coat off. “I’ve got it, Michael.” She can’t help but snap, eyes narrowing at the tall man beside her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Michael winces slightly, but otherwise doesn’t seem too hurt by her rejection. “Oh, of course. S-Sorry, Mrs. Robinson,” He turns his gaze to Delores, who he gives a warm smile to. “H-Hello again, Mrs. Sims. Are you, uh, d-doing any better?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s a stupid question, but Delores is nothing if not a kind woman; certainly kinder than the archivist who’s come to visit her, but that’s not much of an achievement. “A little bit, I suppose. It’s still hard, but I’ve been feeling better, here and there. I just want to keep on living for him.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Michael nods, his smile never wavering. “That’s a w-wonderful sentiment to have!” He says, though it’s obvious that he’s never gone through the same level of heartbreak as Delores. “Is there, um, anything I can d-do to help out? I’m… I’m v-very tall, so if you need anybody to s-sweep really high up, I would be happy to!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Delores chuckles, the sound light and maternal. Dear god, she’d make for a wonderful mother, wouldn’t she? That’s just going to make this so much harder. “Well, I’d hate to bother you, especially when Gerry has been such a dear to me.” Delores admits, though she wears an appreciative little smile for Michael.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Both Gertrude and Michael startle a bit at that. “Gerard is here?” Gertrude asks, struggling to hide the irritation from her voice. She told that boy to observe from afar and keep Elias away, not get directly involved! She should’ve known better than to think he would just stand by and watch; Gerard may be seeking the Eye’s gaze, but he’s anything but a silent voyeur.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh yes, he’s right in the kitchen. I was honestly a bit embarrassed to accept his offer at first, but he’s been such a big help, and he’s an excellent assistant in the kitchen!” As if to prove her point, Delores leads her guests to the kitchen, stepping inside first so she can be the one to address her helper. “Gerry, Mrs. Gertrude and your coworker are here!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Of all the scenarios Gertrude has found Gerard in since she met the boy- bleeding out on the floor after something big and horrible proved to be faster than him, kissing Michael in a storage closet when he thought no one was looking, bent over an oversized tomb with his eyes glowing a light green and blood pouring out of his mouth- this has got to be the most… well, not </span>
  <em>
    <span>surprising </span>
  </em>
  <span>really, but certainly the most domestic, a word she never thought could describe the little punk. Gerard has chosen to leave his oversized leather coat only god the Eye knows where to gather to dust, leaving him an old, raggedy t-shirt for a band Gertrude has never and will never listen to, a pair of black painter’s pants that have certainly earned that name, and a large, grey apron that’s covered in a cute stitched design of a cat stirring a big pot of soup, the caption reading “Kiss the Cat!” in comic sans.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gertrude half expects Gerard to toss off the apron the minute he sees her, maybe even run out of the room in a vain attempt at keeping his dignity, but he doesn’t seem all that embarrassed by his attire as he rhythmically dices vegetables, all while he simultaneously tries to keep a large, fat tabby cat away from what he’s doing. Even from afar, Gertrude catches a glance at the cat’s dark green collar, and she has to bite her tongue to keep from cackling. Who on earth names their cat Colonel Catnip!? Strangely enough, the name seems to suit the hulking brat, who insistently headbutts Gerard’s legs in an attempt to knock him over, but to no avail. He must be the cat that Delores mentioned in her statement; he certainly looks like a troublemaker, and Gertrude has a distinct feeling that he’ll be trying to get underfoot tonight.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey, boss. Hey, Michael,” Gerard remains cool as the Arctic when he addresses Delores’s company, as if he isn’t dressed in an absolutely </span>
  <em>
    <span>ridiculous </span>
  </em>
  <span>outfit that doesn’t even vaguely resemble his usual aesthetic. “Sorry for not telling you guys I’d be here, but… couldn’t help but help out a little.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You look nice,” The compliment just sort of slips from Michael’s mouth, making both women hide a twin snicker. In the meantime, Michael nervously averts his eyes from Gerard’s face, which only glues them to his apron. “Your, uh, a-apron, it’s really… really </span>
  <em>
    <span>cute.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>This gets a blush out of Gerard, and with his pale complexion, it’s made even more obvious. He coughs into his shirt, looking away with just as much embarrassment as Michael. “Um… thanks, dude. You look pretty nice too, in your… your </span>
  <em>
    <span>sweater.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Heaven help her, kids these days have no idea how to flirt, do they? Gertrude simply shakes her head, somewhere between exasperated and pitying. “I suppose you’ve decided to take a more </span>
  <em>
    <span>hands-on</span>
  </em>
  <span> approach to your research then, Gerard? Funny, I could’ve sworn I asked you to do anything but that.” She growls, not even trying to hide the snap in her voice from the goth.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gerard doesn’t falter, simply raising an eyebrow at the woman. “He’s getting bolder,” He deadpans, all of his earlier amusement gone, replaced with a sickening dread that makes even Gertrude a bit uncomfortable. “He’s gone as far as following directly behind Mrs. Sims, like he’s just waiting for her to trip and fall so he can do something to her… I wanted to remind him that she’s not alone.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s true,” Delores adds, not wanting Gertrude to blame Gerard for doing what needed to be done. “Mr. Bouchard has been… I can’t seem to go four hours without seeing him. Every time I look out a window, there he is. Or when I ride the tube, he’s sitting right next to or across from me. It’s been </span>
  <em>
    <span>awful.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Is he here right now?” Michael asks, not really thinking before he opens his mouth.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gertrude’s tempted to elbow him, but Delores cuts in before she can scold the boy. “I’ll check,” She offers, hurrying over to a window in the kitchen. She draws back the curtain, her shoulders tense, but they relax after she looks around for a few seconds. “Thank god he isn’t… he doesn’t seem to like following me as much when Gerry’s around, although I can still… this will sound silly, but I can still feel his eyes on me, making me want to scratch my skin raw.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The ceaseless watcher earned that name for a reason,” Gerard says, his eyes full of a much realer sympathy than Gertrude’s, though he’s never minded the Eye’s gaze on him before. If anything, he seems to take comfort in it, which his boss has chalked up to a lack of attention on his dead mother’s part. Gerard abandons his work to step over to Delores, offering her a hug, which she accepts in a heartbeat. “It’ll be alright, Mrs. Sims… I won’t let anything happen to ya.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“None of us will,” Gertrude adds, subtly taking a deep breath to prepare herself. “If you don’t mind me asking, do you think we can start our talk now, or would you rather wait until we have dinner first?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Delores hesitates, her chin resting on Gerard’s shoulder as she thinks on it. “I… we could talk now, if you want to.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gertrude raises an eyebrow. “Are you </span>
  <em>
    <span>certain, </span>
  </em>
  <span>dear? We can always wait until after we’ve eaten to have this conversation. I don’t want to overwhelm you anymore than you have been.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Delores gives a weak nod, eyes misty and sorrowful. “Then I’d… I’d like to wait a little bit, if you don’t mind.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gertrude nods, mentally wiping her face of any hint of discontent. “That’s perfectly fine, dear. Take all the time you need.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>For the next hour and a half, Gertrude sits on the couch in Delores’s living room pretending to read a book while her assistants help out in the kitchen, the two men rambling amongst themselves while the lady of the house does most of the cooking, mostly only giving them little tasks to keep them occupied and out of her hair. Colonel Catnip seems to have grown tired of Gerard refusing to give him any scraps, and in a fashion that Gertrude can only call overly dramatic, the large tomcat struts out of the kitchen and towards her waiting lap, looking for all the world like a man on a mission. With her boys preoccupied, the archivist doesn’t bother trying to wear a mask of apathy, smiling softly as the cat comes her way.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Colonel Catnip needs no help hopping onto the couch, and without so much as hesitating, he tumbles into Gertrude’s lap like he belongs there and makes himself comfortable, maneuvering his fat little bumblebee-like body into the shape of a bread loaf. The archivist chuckles, amused by the tomcat’s antics. Rather gently, and with an ease she thought she had forgotten, Gertrude begins running her weathered fingers through Colonel Catnip’s dense fur, eliciting the most angelic of meows from his throat. This is followed by a low, heavy rumble of a purr, the sound vibrating through Gertrude’s lap and relaxing her to her very core. She smiles, falling into a familiar rhythm as she pets the cat, her eyes half-lidded with contentment.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Goodness, it’s been a long time since I’ve shared a cat’s company,” Gertrude mutters to herself, biting back a snicker when one of Colonel Catnip’s ears twitches. “You’re certainly not my Meriel, but you’re still a very lovely cat, aren’t you? You must make Delores feel quite loved.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Colonel Catnip mewls at that, rolling onto his back to give Gertrude ample opportunity to rub his fat belly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gertrude huffs, tempted to roll her eyes. “Alright, but I’m only giving you a few belly-rubs, and then you’re done; I don’t trust your kind not to scratch me senseless for daring to touch your sensitive little tummy.” With that she gently rubs Colonel Catnip’s chest, mindful of his body language so she can pull back if he starts getting twitchy.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>To her surprise, the tomcat has an incredibly high tolerance for having his belly rubbed, something she’s never seen from a cat before. Does he genuinely like having his chest fur pet, or is he just lulling her into a false sense of security so he can bite the shit out of her hand when she least expects it? Best to be prepared for the worst. Gertrude keeps up her petting rhythm, her shoulders remaining tense in preparation to pull back, but she never has to, Colonel Catnip more than happy to let her pet him until the end of time. What a strange cat. After twenty minutes of this battle of wills, Delores tells Gertrude it’s time for dinner, and after carefully removing the clingy cat from her person, she joins the younger woman and her assistants in the kitchen, the smell of warm food making her stomach grumble.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gerard and Delores have prepared roasted lamb and steamed vegetables for dinner, which goes over rather well with their audience. The foursome eat in silence, save for the occasional giggle on Michael’s end when Colonel Catnip bats at his ankles for scrapes, which he innocently gives to the feline. Foolish boy, the cat will only ask for more if he submits! Not that it matters, as Gertrude keeps her mind focused on what she has to talk to Delores about after dinner. It won’t be easy, especially when she’s let herself grow attached to Delores- a foolish, rookie mistake, but she doesn’t know if it could’ve been prevented, not when Delores is so difficult not to love- but it has to be done, both for her sake, and the child’s.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So,” Luckily for Gertrude, Delores herself is the one to break the ice, unwilling to let the tension overstay it’s welcome. “I’m guessing there’s a reason you were so insistent that we meet tonight?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes,” Gertrude says, glancing nervously between Gerard and Michael. She’d be inclined to let the former stay, but her other assistant… she still doesn’t want to make his life any harder than it has to be. He already knows about the Fears, but he shouldn’t know just how horrifying and relentless they can really be. “Michael, Gerard, would you both be so kind as to give me and Delores some privacy?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Before either man can get out of their seats, Delores cuts in. “No need to kick them out of the kitchen, Mrs. Gertrude. Come along, we can talk about this upstairs,” She stands up, beginning to lead Gertrude to the kitchen’s entryway, but she pauses abruptly. “Oh, and boys, please don’t bother yourselves with any chores while I’m gone, alright? I’d hate to make you do anything more for me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She may as well have put a </span>
  <em>
    <span>‘do not touch’</span>
  </em>
  <span> sign on a cookie jar, as both mens’ eyes alight with inspiration. “No promises,” Gerard says, smirking as he shares a look with Michael, who mimics his grin. “I’ve got scrubbing if you’ve got rinsing.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Michael nods, smiling his too-wide smile. “O-Of course! Betcha I’ll be faster!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>An all too familiar glint shines in Gerard’s eyes, reminding Gertrude of the look his mother used to wear when she caught wind of a Leitner turning up. “You’re </span>
  <em>
    <span>challenging me,</span>
  </em>
  <span> Shelley? Oh, it’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>on.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Please don’t destroy Mrs. Sims’s kitchen, boys,” Gertrude practically begs, her tone verging on desperate; she knows how destructive they can be when something becomes a competition. “We should only be an hour at most, so don’t cause any trouble.” With that, she follows after Delores, ignoring the immediate chorus of stampeding feet behind her. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Whelp, she tried.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Once they make it to the top of the staircase, Delores chuckles, though her eyes are full of embarrassment and slight tinge of regret. “I really shouldn’t have mentioned the dishes,” She says, tone apologetic. “Goodness, you have such </span>
  <em>
    <span>kind </span>
  </em>
  <span>assistants, Mrs. Gertrude. They’re both such darlings!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gertrude resists the urge to tell Delores that both men are responsible for a huge, dark green scorch mark on the roof of the archives, which was caused by Gerard burning a Leitner and Michael, in his infinite wisdom, pouring a full bottle of gasoline that he thought was water onto it when the fire turned green. “Yes, they are quite… </span>
  <em>
    <span>passionate.”</span>
  </em>
  <span> She goes for that, since it’s not </span>
  <em>
    <span>exactly </span>
  </em>
  <span>a lie.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Delores giggles outright, and dear god, Gertrude feels something she thought to be a cold, withered heart stir in her chest. She knows she doesn’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>love </span>
  </em>
  <span>Delores, or really even feel much attraction towards her, but the widow is a reminder to her of the sort of people most often harmed by the Fears; innocent people were simply unlucky enough to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. She doesn’t deserve to be stalked, to be threatened by a monster wanting to take her baby, but really, who </span>
  <em>
    <span>does </span>
  </em>
  <span>deserve that? No one, that’s who, not even people as horrible as Mary Keay and Maxwell Rayner. As usual, karma plays no role in this world, and no matter how sweet or well-meaning Delores Sims is, she’s still been targeted by the Eye, and it’s Gertrude’s job to protect her from it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Not that much can be done at this point, but she has to at least </span>
  <em>
    <span>try </span>
  </em>
  <span>to intervene, if only to keep as many people from getting killed as possible. However, all thoughts of keeping things professional are thrown out the window when Gertrude steps into Delores’s bedroom, and she is immediately overcome with a sense of domesticity like no other. The walls are covered in framed pieces of artwork, mainly being paintings of different landscapes, and among the paintings are picture frames and taped up Polaroids, which consist almost entirely of Delores and who Gertrude can only assume is Alexander. Without thinking about it, she steps over to one of the Polaroids, gently pulling it off the wall. The picture looks to have been taken in front of a cafe in the midst of a thunderstorm, and in the middle of the shot is Delores and Alexander, the two grinning, cheek to cheek, as they hold an umbrella together over their heads.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>In handwriting that Gertrude doesn’t recognize, but knows must belong to Alexander, a message reads; </span>
  <em>
    <span>“Together forever, no matter the weather, Lori &amp; Xander~!”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“We took that picture about a month after we got married,” Delores says, snapping Gertrude out of her thoughts. “We had planned on going to dinner at an outdoor restaurant we both fancied, but a flash storm swept in and, well… let’s just say we got more than we bargained for,” She comes to stand by Gertrude’s side, tears in her eyes as she gently takes the picture from her, looking it over in her own, much more shaky hands. “Literally the moment after the waiter was done taking our picture, Xander lost his grip on the umbrella in a big gust of wind, and we had to run after it. We must’ve looked so ridiculous, dressed to the nines and soaking wet as we ran after a crummy old umbrella, and we couldn’t even stop laughing! Our date should’ve been ruined, but if anything, it was one of our best ones. It was just nice, living in the same world that he did… it was hard to be anything but happy about life.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gertrude can only nod, something in her understanding that sort of love, but since she’s never had the chance to explore it, she can only imagine what it must be like, and how painful it would be to lost it. “I see… you two look like you were very happy together. He must have really loved you,” Gertrude offers, using the same phrase people told her father when her mother passed away all those years ago, when she was hardly at knee height. In an attempt to move on, she hangs the photo back up, then turns to look directly at Delores, willing herself not to just walk out and save this woman from another life-ruining heartbreak. “Delores, I think-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“-You want to take the baby, don’t you?” Delores asks, beating Gertrude to the punch.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The archivist </span>
  <em>
    <span>balks,</span>
  </em>
  <span> having not expected that. Delores simply sighs, nodding her head as she moves to her bed, taking a seat on the duvet with a note finality.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I suppose I should’ve known, the minute I came to you for help. I know you’re not </span>
  <em>
    <span>really </span>
  </em>
  <span>working for Mr. Bouchard, but I still… I still know that, whatever he’s done to my baby, it’s put them in a lot of danger,” Nervously, Delores’s eyes trail up Gertrude’s body, producing an unwelcome shiver from the older woman. “You’re not going to give them to him, right?” She asks, eyes full of tears that are just on the cusp of falling. And it hits Gertrude, in this moment, that no matter her answer, Delores will still give in, if only because she doesn’t have the energy to fight anymore.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh </span>
  <em>
    <span>honey,”</span>
  </em>
  <span> Gertrude whispers, not quite breaking enough to cry- she actually can’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>remember </span>
  </em>
  <span>the last time she cried, it must’ve been years ago now- but enough to understand and feel Delores’s pain. She takes a seat beside the young widow, and although affection of any kind isn’t really her style, she still envelopes her in a warm hug. Delores sobs in her arms, shaking so violently that if she had any strength left in her, her trembling would make her come completely undone. “It’s alright, Delores… I know, I know. Let it </span>
  <em>
    <span>all </span>
  </em>
  <span>out.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It takes another twenty minutes before Delores can speak again, not that Gertrude is desperate to keep this conversation going. In that time, Colonel Catnip comes trotting into the room- how he got the door open, the archivist has no idea- and with that same determination as before, he catapultes onto the bed and crawls into Delores’s lap, intent on purring until she feels better.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Finally, after a few minutes of catching her breath, Delores pulls back slightly, though she’s careful not to jostle the cat off her lap, not that such a thing will remove him anytime soon. “Thank you for that, Mrs. Gertrude… I’m sorry for being such an emotional wreck.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’ve been through hell,” Gertrude deadpans, undeterred by Delores’s apology. “Honestly, you’ve taken this all much better than most people would have. You’re a very strong woman, Mrs. Sims.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Delores laughs, though it lacks any humor. “You don’t have to lie to make me feel better… but thank you,” She sighs, unknowingly leaning her head on Gertrude’s shoulder for support. “So I’m right, aren’t I? You need to take the baby away to keep them safe.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gertrude dry-swallows, hating herself for being so uncertain when she’s spent so long preparing for this moment. “Your child has been marked by something incredibly powerful, and I don’t believe anything on this earth will keep it from eventually taking them,” She won’t tell Delores </span>
  <em>
    <span>everything </span>
  </em>
  <span>about the Eye, but she’ll tell her enough to put the fear of god in her, if only for her and her child’s safety. “Unfortunately, the man after your child serves this being, and he will stop at nothing to claim your baby and make them into a tool for his own gain. I think that once you give birth, it would be best if someone who’s fought against this being were to take them in. I promise you’ll be able to be around them as much as you’d like, but if you want them to survive, and not end up in the arms of </span>
  <em>
    <span>him… </span>
  </em>
  <span>well, I think it would be best if I take primary custody.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Delores takes a few long, deep breathes. “There’s really no getting around this, is there?” She asks, the question theoretical. “You know, three months ago, when I first entered your archives, I still sort of thought this was all made up, that my mind was playing tricks on me, but now, after all the rubbish I’ve seen and heard…” She trails off, her hands cupping her abdomen, and now that she’s closer, Gertrude can see just how much the bump has grown in the few months it’s existed. “Well, I don’t think I can keep pretending that ghosts and monsters aren’t real, now can I? Something evil is trying to hurt my baby, and I just… I just want them to </span>
  <em>
    <span>live,</span>
  </em>
  <span> to have a good life, and if that means I can’t be in it, I guess I’ll just have to live with that,” She let’s out a sob, ducking her head in a mix of shame and grief. “I don’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>want </span>
  </em>
  <span>to lose him, especially not after losing Xander, but I know this is what’s best for him… I just wish none of this bullshit had ever happened, you know? It’s not fair, losing everything so fast. I know I’m not a perfect person, and I haven’t always been kind, but… I don’t think I deserve this.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You don’t,” Gertrude assures, rubbing Delores’s back in an attempt to comfort her. </span>
  <em>
    <span>“No one</span>
  </em>
  <span> deserves to go through something like this, Delores… unfortunately, the powers at work here don’t give a damn about that sort of thing. They just take what they want, and all we can do is make it as hard for them as possible.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Delores nods, a tense silence filling the air. She seems to be thinking about something, something that Gertrude already Knows the younger woman feels ashamed of. “You know, after I first met with you, I… I went to an abortion clinic and scheduled an appointment. It shattered me to even consider it, after so many years of trying to conceive, but I didn’t want to bring my child into a world that only wanted to hurt him,” Delores sighs under her breath, eyes fixated on Colonel Catnip, who offers her nothing but loving nuzzles and purrs. “A week before my appointment, I found out that the clinic got… </span>
  <em>
    <span>demolished.</span>
  </em>
  <span> Apparently, the Lukas family bought it and wanted to move it elsewhere, give it better business, but that means it had to drop all it’s current clients. When I received my copy of the paper, and was reading the article on it, I saw that there was a… a </span>
  <em>
    <span>note,</span>
  </em>
  <span> just for me, written in gold pen. It was from </span>
  <em>
    <span>him,</span>
  </em>
  <span> I think, and it told me that the next time I needed a doctor’s appointment, I should stick to my current provider,” Suddenly she chuckles, the sound hollow and joyless. “You know what’s funny, but also isn’t? I can’t tell if he’s threatening to get rid of every abortion clinic in London, or threatening to off my doctor. Silly, isn’t it?” At that, she starts to cry again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gertrude gives up on subtly, and ignoring Colonel Catnip’s mewl of disapproval, she knocks him out of the way and pulls Delores towards her, wanting to give her a proper hug. It’s not hard, considering how short and stout Delores is, and although Colonel Catnip gives Gertrude a bit of a sneer for interrupting his cuddle time, he’s quick to crawl right back onto his owner, successfully crushing the archivist under both his and Delores’s combined weight. Despite being mistaken as frail, Gertrude is anything but, and with more ease than most her age, she maneuvers the younger woman in her arms to be nearly cradled, pillowing her head against her bony shoulder. It’s not a position she’s accustomed to in the slightest, but seeing as she’s going to be caring for a baby in a few months, she oughta get in some practice while she can.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>All of Delores’s bawling eventually draws the attention of Gertrude’s assistants, and although they try their best to be sneaky about it, their footsteps are easily heard by their boss. Michael ends up taking initiative, gently pushing the door open just enough that he can peer inside, his bright blue eyes full of worry, and the sleeves of his sweater soaked in what Gertrude assumes is dishwater. A head shorter than him, and hiding somewhat behind the taller man, is Gerard, with just as much water soaking his clothes as his partner in crime, and looking for all the world just as out of touch as Gertrude feels. That figures, considering how much horrible bullshit they’ve both gone through. The archivist glances up when she sees them, internally praying that she hasn’t started crying or anything of the sort.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Michael,” Gertrude asks, voice eerily calm. “Would you be a dear and please get Delores some much needed tea? I’m afraid she might have a sore throat soon.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Michael doesn’t miss a beat. “Of course, Mrs. Robinson. R-Right away!” He takes off like a rocket, nearly tossing himself down the stairs in an effort to get down them as fast as possible. This, unfortunately, seems to be a trigger for Delores, who grips Gertrude with such ferocity when she hears Michael’s feet hit the bottom floor that she threatens to tear her cardigan.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gerard catches the movement, eyes glinting with concern. “I’ll make sure Michael doesn’t run in the house anymore,” He promises, tone verging on robotic. Offhandedly, Gertrude wonders if he’s afraid right now; he certainly sounds like he might be. “You want some tea too, boss?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gertrude shakes her head, but offers the smallest twitch of a smile. “No thank you, Gerard. I just want to stay here a little longer, if you don’t mind.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Of course,” Gerard says, life filling him again, though his eyes remain uncertain. “I’ll… I’ll keep the bad stuff away, I promise.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Whether that promise is to Gertrude or Delores is unclear, but the archivist can’t bring herself to ask. Instead, she stays exactly where she is, determined to hold Delores close and try in vain to keep her safe from the entities intent on tearing her apart.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Sorry if Agnes wasn’t well-written; I actually haven’t heard her voice in any of the episodes I’ve watched yet (I just finished S4 a few days ago), but I’m really excited to! I just tried going off of what I’ve heard about her, so I hope that’s sufficient. In any case, I hope y’all enjoyed this chapter! Please comment if you’ve got the time, ‘cus I’d love to hear people’s thoughts!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. The Art of Family and Inevitable Demise</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I was actually gonna jump straight from the last chapter into Delores having Jon, but I really wanted to touch on other shit that I want to have happen before then, so that’s how this chapter happened. Also, I listened to MAG151 the other day and it Destroyed Me, so I’m here to destroy you all in return.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>A sudden wave of sticky and hot heat overtakes Gertrude in the form of a short breeze, causing the woman to bite her lip and wince, silently wishing in this moment that she’d left her cardigan at home. Actually, screw that, she doesn’t care </span>
  <em>
    <span>how </span>
  </em>
  <span>hot it gets; she’s still going to wear her cardigan, and she’ll be damned if anything as pitiful and inconsistent as the weather stops her. Stubbornly, Gertrude pulls the cardigan tighter around her bony shoulders, as if spitting in the face of whatever godless entity controls the heat. Late summer isn’t exactly a great time of year, in the archivist’s opinion. With all the wildfires in the woods to the north of London, the Lightless Flame cultists in the area become a lot more active, something that never ends well for anyone. Oh sure, Agnes can keep her little pack of eccentric worshipers out of the way until August, but after that there’s no stopping them from dragging their fires into the city.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gertrude’s already stopped at least four fires in uptown London this week alone, while her assistants have stopped about six between the two of them, which is far more than she expected of them (namely Michael). But still, the Desolation just won’t give it a break, meaning the archival staff can’t have one, either. It’s a thankless job too, making it all the harder to get work done, what with the fire department often getting underfoot. Gertrude let’s herself sigh now, wishing more than anything that she could go home and just relax for a few hours, maybe catch up on some much needed sleep, but apparently yet another disaster has occurred, and it’s up to </span>
  <em>
    <span>her </span>
  </em>
  <span>to fix it. She doesn’t actually </span>
  <em>
    <span>know </span>
  </em>
  <span>what’s wrong yet, just that Delores had some kind of bad encounter with something other than Elias a few days ago, and she desperately needs the archivist’s support. Some mean, spiteful part of Gertrude is very tempted to tell the pregnant woman to get over it, but she knows it isn’t really Delores’s fault.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hopefully, once she gets involved, she can put whatever is stressing Delores out to rest, and then she can get back to dealing with work. With this thought in mind, Gertrude holds her head up high and marches into a small cafe, breathing a sigh of relief as a cold gust of air hits her square in the forehead, cooling her down in a jiffy. As she steps up to the front counter, a young waiter strolls over to greet her, a pleasant enough smile on his face. “Hello there, ma’am! Welcome to Laura’s Place. How many seats would you like to reserve today?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m actually here to meet someone,” Gertrude says, unable to keep from eyeing the man in front of her somewhat wearily, half scared he could be a monster in disguise. Ah, the side-effects of being a makeshift monster hunter. “The name should be under Delores or Gertrude.” She adds, hoping that’ll get her to Delores faster.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The waiter nods, checking his notebook before smiling at Gertrude again. “Yep, we’ve got a Delores here; she’s waiting in the back! Are you her sister or something?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gertrude wants to laugh at the blatant attempt at making her feel younger, but she doesn’t bother. “No, I’m just a friend.” She mutters, letting the plucky young man lead her to one of the booths at the back of the cafe.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How nice! She looks like she could use a friend,” The waiter doesn’t try to hide his concern, something Gertrude finds a tad peculiar. Maybe she was right to come here if total strangers are becoming concerned for Delores. “Miss Delores? Someone’s here to see you!” Once they reach the farthest booth from the door, the waiter greets the lone woman sitting there.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gertrude tries to keep from wincing when she gets a look at Delores. She looks like she hasn’t slept in several weeks, with deep, dark bags hung underneath her pretty brown eyes, making her look older than she is. Her hair is a complete mess too, though it’s obvious she’s trying to hide that with the use of a well-placed sunhat; it’s not doing a great job, mind you, but an attempt was certainly made. When the waiter speaks to her, Delores flinches away, much like a wounded animal. Gertrude notes that when Delores flinches away, she uses both of her arms to shield her barely-there baby bump. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Interesting.</span>
  </em>
  <span> It’s probably just instinctual, but it’s still in the archivist’s opinion a sign that Delores still has her humanity. It’s an odd thing to keep an eye on, but considering the watchful child growing inside of the widow can’t be easy to carry, Gertrude feels it’s important to make sure her companion stays sane.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, I’m so sorry; I didn’t mean to scare you!” The waiter apologizes quickly, holding his hands up in an attempt to placate the customer.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Delores stays frozen for a few seconds, still guarding her abdomen, until very slowly, she relaxes, her shoulders easing downwards. “I-It’s okay,” She says, clearly lying just to make the waiter less worried. She then looks to Gertrude, a weak but hopeful smile forming on her face. “I’m so glad you came, Gertrude… we </span>
  <em>
    <span>really </span>
  </em>
  <span>need to talk.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Of course. You know that I’m here to help you, dear.” Gertrude replies, delicately taking a seat across from Delores, doing her best to ignore the waiter still staring at them.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>After a few long, drawn out seconds, the waiter pastes on a fake smile, if only to reinstate some level of much needed normalcy. “Well, I’ll just leave you two ladies to it. Call me if you need anything!” He takes off like a bat out of hell, wanting no part of whatever conversation his customers are about to have.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There’s a pause, where neither Delores nor Gertrude, but after a few seconds, the widow manages to make herself talk. “Thank you again for meeting with me on such short notice, Gertrude,” She whispers, trying to form her mouth into a smile, but it comes off as more pained than anything close to joyful. “I know you’re very busy with… well,</span>
  <em>
    <span> everything, </span>
  </em>
  <span>but I </span>
  <em>
    <span>really </span>
  </em>
  <span>need to talk with you about what’s happening.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gertrude nods, secretly pretty miffed still that Delores called her away from work, but she isn’t about to tell her that to her face. “It’s fine, dear… lord knows I’ve barged in on you with much less warning than this. Besides, I’m sure the boys can handle the archives without me,” She pauses to have a sip of tea that Delores must have ordered for her in advance, wincing as the heat of it almost burns her tongue. “Now then, what was it you wanted to talk about?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Delores averts her eyes as soon as she’s asked, fixing them on her hands instead. Gertrude notices, offhandedly, that the younger woman has painted her nails since they last met, the hard shells colored either dark green or purple. It’s been roughly a month or so since the archivist asked Delores to give up her baby, and while she knows that the widow already agreed to her offer, some part of her is worried that she called this meeting to take it back. That certainly would make things a lot harder for Gertrude, especially since she knows she can’t get away with kidnapping the baby if it comes to that, as the police- especially the sectioned officers- are all in Elias’s pocket, and with a snap of his fingers she’d lose any chance she might have at keeping the kid safe from him. Slowly, the older woman shakes her head, trying to dispel such thoughts. No, Delores wouldn’t do that; she knows they don’t have any other options regarding the baby. This has to be about something else, something… </span>
  <em>
    <span>worse.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“I… I really don’t know where to start,” Delores admits after a few long, drawn out seconds of silence. “I think something strange is happening to me, Gertrude. It’s not normal, I know that much; I’ve tried looking this up online, but none of the new mothers forums mention </span>
  <em>
    <span>anything </span>
  </em>
  <span>like what I’m experiencing!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gertrude sits up a little straighter at this, equal parts curious as she is wary. “What is it that you’re experiencing?” She asks, her tone making her sound more like a medical professional than an archivist. She works very hard to keep from Compelling the information out of Delores, though it’s very tempting to do so, the archivist only wanting to do it so she can get every single detail, even the ones that the pregnant woman might not want to share with her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Delores squirms in her seat, clearly uncomfortable, but whether it’s because Gertrude’s actively trying to keep her voice in check or because of the subject matter is up for debate. It’s probably a mix of both. “I don’t know how to say this, but… do you know how, when I told you about what Mr. Bouchard was doing to me, you said you were taking a statement from me?” When Gertrude simply nods, Delores let’s out a long, shaky sigh. “Is that some kind of… </span>
  <em>
    <span>power?</span>
  </em>
  <span> I think you mentioned that you also, um, </span>
  <em>
    <span>‘serve’ </span>
  </em>
  <span>the same monster that controls Mr. Bouchard, and I was just curious if there was something special about people telling you their stories.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gertrude finds herself going taut with dread, a full-body shiver running through her. “Delores… have you developed a craving for statements?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Delores nods so fast, it looks like she might sprain her neck. “I believe so, yes. I don’t even know when it </span>
  <em>
    <span>started </span>
  </em>
  <span>really, I just woke up one morning and </span>
  <em>
    <span>needed </span>
  </em>
  <span>to hear a story, but not… not like a </span>
  <em>
    <span>normal </span>
  </em>
  <span>story. Like a </span>
  <em>
    <span>bad </span>
  </em>
  <span>one, where nothing ends well, and the only reason it all went wrong was because something pure evil was pulling the strings,” She takes a sip of her tea, her face screwing into a grimace, though Gertrude knows it’s not because of the tea’s flavor. “I tried rereading a few of the murder mystery novels I have at home, the ones that I know are especially gruesome, but none of them felt</span>
  <em>
    <span> right. </span>
  </em>
  <span>It wasn’t until I was at the grocers that it happened,” Her eyes grow wet now, a look of guilt and horror overtaking her face. “I was just going in for some milk, not even for the full shopping, but as I was walking through the freezer section, I saw a lad restocking one of them, his eyes looking distant in a way I’ve never seen before, and I just </span>
  <em>
    <span>knew… </span>
  </em>
  <span>I </span>
  <em>
    <span>knew </span>
  </em>
  <span>he had a story. One that would make the pain stop,” Delores let’s out a sob, covering her face with her hands. “I didn’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>mean </span>
  </em>
  <span>to hurt him, Gertrude… he just had such a </span>
  <em>
    <span>perfect </span>
  </em>
  <span>story, and I asked as politely as I could, but when he finished, he looked… he looked so </span>
  <em>
    <span>afraid. </span>
  </em>
  <span>I think I might’ve ruined his life.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gertrude gives Delores a few minutes to cry herself out, glaring at any nearby patrons that try to stare at the poor girl, none of them understanding what she’s going though. This is certainly an unexpected development, but considering the fact that the baby should be in at least the second trimester by now, and that it’s going to grow into an avatar of the Eye, they’re going to start needing more food, but nothing that a normal society can provide. The food that the child needs right now is </span>
  <em>
    <span>statements,</span>
  </em>
  <span> a hunger that Gertrude is all too familiar with. She’s worked hard to wean herself off of them, to give herself plenty of time between readings so she won’t get too addicted to the trauma, but that isn’t really an option for Delores, as it might hurt the baby in the long run to be anything but greedy. Some horrible, tactical part of Gertrude almost likes the sound of that- of starving the little monster until they miscarry- and yet she shakes the idea away in no time flat, hardly giving it any consideration. She can’t put Delores through that.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What you’re going through isn’t uncommon for an avatar of the Beholding, though it’s certainly not something I expected you to go through,” Gertrude explains, clinically calm so as to keep herself from sounding as panicked as she feels. “Even so, I’m nothing if not prepared to help you through this, Delores. I feel the need to ask you this, before I ask you anything else; are you hungry right now?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Delores snaps her head up at that, tears momentarily halting, and to Gertrude’s surprise, the younger woman’s eyes are glowing a faint, powerful green. “Yes,” She says without even hesitating, her mouth slightly open, as if she might start drooling at any minute. “I’m so </span>
  <em>
    <span>hungry,</span>
  </em>
  <span> but I won’t let myself hurt anyone else… I don’t know what to do, Gertrude.” She starts sobbing all over again, louder this time.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gertrude bites back a sigh… it’s not like this is Delores’s fault; if anyone’s to blame, it’s Elias for forcing this pain upon her. Speaking of that pompous asshole, why hasn’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>he </span>
  </em>
  <span>done anything to help his future child’s mother? From the sound of it, Delores ate that lad’s story not too long ago, likely only a few days ago at most, so why hasn’t Elias intervened himself? Does he already know that Gertrude will hope, so he’s not going to even bother? Did he arrange for Delores to go to the grocers on purpose, just so he could teach her how to begin feeding the child on her own? So many questions and not enough answers, not that that’s all that unusual in the archivist’s line of work. Gertrude’s going to have to ask Gerard to keep a closer eye on Elias moving forward, maybe see if he can eavesdrop on the man if he has any phone calls while following Delores. But for now, she needs to find a way to take care of Delores and her baby, before the poor girl accidentally traumatizes someone else.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You shouldn’t feel guilty for this, Delores… well, perhaps you feeling guilty is a good sign, as it proves you aren’t hurting anyone intentionally, but my point still stands; this isn’t your fault in any way, dear,” Gertrude murmurs, soft as cotton as she reaches across the table, and as gently as she can, she interlocks her hands with Delores’s and pulls them away from the widow’s face, giving her a chance to look into her eyes. They’re still glowing green. “It’s going to be alright, honey… I’m going to help you find stories, and I </span>
  <em>
    <span>promise </span>
  </em>
  <span>that it won’t be as horrible as it was the first time.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Will I hurt anyone else?” Delores asks, such a desperation in her voice that it’s hard to feel anything but sorry for her. </span>
  <em>
    <span>“Please</span>
  </em>
  <span> Gertrude, I can’t do what I did to that lad to anyone else! It was so </span>
  <em>
    <span>horrible,</span>
  </em>
  <span> and he was so</span>
  <em>
    <span> young;</span>
  </em>
  <span> he didn’t deserve it!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He didn’t,” Gertrude agrees. “However, that doesn’t mean you’re a bad person because of what happened. You didn’t know what you were doing, but now that I’m here, I can make it so no one else gets hurt like that, alright?” It’s a bit of a lie, since the archivist worries she doesn’t have enough old statements to keep the widow sated, but whatever calms her down, the better.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shakily, Delores nods, hiccuping as she tries to compose herself. “O-Okay,” She whispers, low and unbelievably weak, like she hasn’t eaten in weeks… considering the circumstances, she really hasn’t, at least not to the degree that she needs to. “Can we… can we find a story soon then? </span>
  <em>
    <span>Please?”</span>
  </em>
  <span> She asks so kindly, for a moment it’s like she’s asking her mum for a sweet, not her… whatever Gertrude is to her for someone else’s trauma to feast on.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gertrude nods, sparing the woman a smile. “Of course, dear. Come along, I’ll take you back to the archives; we have plenty of statements there that you should be able to read,” She then pauses, realizing what that could lead to. “On second thought, we might need to find another way to get you stories. Elias could be in, and I don’t want you to-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“-I can handle it,” Delores says, some of her natural bravery returning to her eyes, reminding Gertrude that the woman in front of her isn’t nearly as helpless as she likes to believe. “I’m so used to seeing that wanker everywhere I go, I can handle getting a bit closer. Who knows? Maybe I’ll be the one watching </span>
  <em>
    <span>him </span>
  </em>
  <span>this time.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Maybe,” Gertrude agrees, humoring Delores to keep her spirits up. “Well, if you’re sure, then we should leave as soon as we can, before the archives close for the day. The boys like to stay rather late, but we shouldn’t risk it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Delores nods in agreement. “Alright… I’m ready whenever you are.” She promises, her smile full of newfound hope. Despite the circumstances, Gertrude finds herself feeling better when she sees Delores smile, something about it feeling so right.</span>
</p><hr/><p>
  <span>The archives of the Magnus Institute are, admittedly, disorganized and untidy to the point of looking like a hoarder’s house. Part of that is intentional on Gertrude’s part, as it helps sell her </span>
  <em>
    <span>“ditzy old lady”</span>
  </em>
  <span> shtick, but it doesn’t exactly make her feel proud when she has in-person statement givers or guests visiting. There’s the door to her office and four desks near the front door to the archives, only one of which- technically two, if you count the pile of books and papers on one of the desks that Gerard likes to sit his feet on as being his- is actually occupied, the other two acting as two more flat surfaces to store paperwork. In the back of the room are two doors, one leading to a dingy bathroom that Gertrude knows Gerard smokes in while the other leads to a pathetic excuse for a kitchen, but it takes a master gymnast to even </span>
  <em>
    <span>reach </span>
  </em>
  <span>either of the rooms, as an array of tall filing cabinets surrounded on all sides by boxes of statements blocks the way. Michael has not so lovingly dubbed this part of the archives “the not-so pragmatic ocean.” Needless to say, Gertrude feels a light blush overtake her face as she leads Delores inside, even though the other woman has been here before.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re back early,” Gerard says without looking up from his book. He’s reclining in one of the unoccupied desk chairs, his feet propped up on his favorite desk. “Is Mrs. Sims doing alright, or should I-” He cuts himself off, his eyes widening when he glances up and catches sight of the woman in question. “Oh… hello, Mrs. Sims.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hello, Gerry,” Delores greets, managing a nervous smile for the young man. “How has your day been so far?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Kinda boring,” Gerard admits, looking past the widow to give Gertrude a befuddled look. “Not to be rude, but… what’re you doing here, Mrs. Sims? Is </span>
  <em>
    <span>he </span>
  </em>
  <span>out or something?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gertrude shakes her head, deciding to answer for her guest. “No, he’s in his office, though I have a feeling he’s watching us a little more closely right now,” She averts her eyes to a nearby box full of statements, trying to rack her mind for what’s inside of it, but her memory churns up nothing. “Gerard, do you know where a few of our older statements are? Preferably ones from before the twentieth century, just to be safe?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gerard sits up, his worry becoming even more apparent. “I mean, sure, but why do you need them? What’s going on here, boss?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gertrude considers keeping it to herself, but if there’s one thing she’s learned from working with Gerard, it’s that he never let’s a sleeping bear lie, and if she doesn’t give him a suitable enough answer, he’ll go looking for it himself. “Delores’s pregnancy with a Beholding avatar has resulted in her needing to read statements to keep herself in good health, much like I occasionally need them. However, Delores is very afraid to traumatize any statement givers that are still alive, so we should only give her statements from at least a century or more ago.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Damn,” Gerard says, eyes widening in a mix of horror and a fair amount of curiosity; no wonder he’s such a good fit for the Eye, even if Gertrude won’t let him sign a contract and give himself to it. “I’m so sorry, Mrs. Sims… if I had known, I would’ve-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“-It’s not your fault, honey. Please don’t blame yourself,” Delores urges, giving the goth a warm, maternal smile, something Gertrude doubts her assistant is all that accustomed to. “I only just found out about this recently, and I told Mrs. Robinson as soon as I could, so no harm done… other than to that lad, of course.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gerard sits up a little straighter. “Someone I need to go looking for?” He questions, his body language mimicking that of a hunter. Alright, maybe he’d be a good fit for the Hunt too, but only if the Hunt let him only track down and burn Leitners.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Delores shakes her head in a hurry. “No no no, I’ve done enough damage as it is. Best to just let the poor lad go… maybe if I’m lucky, he won’t even remember what happened!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Both Gertrude and Gerard know that isn’t the case, but neither of them are willing to tell Delores that. “Yeah, he probably doesn’t remember anything; normal people are really good at blocking that shit out,” Gerard offers, trying his damnedest to be comforting to Delores. He then stands up, careful to stretch his back until it gives a satisfying pop. “So, we need some old statements? You’ve got it. I’ll be back as soon as I can; gotta go swimming.” With a wave to Delores, he walks to the not-so pragmatic sea, making a big show out of rolling up his jacket’s sleeves.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Delores giggles at this, amused by the display. “Try not to drown.” She suggests, finding the whole thing quite funny. Gertrude decides not to comment on it, preferring to let the widow be happy while she still can.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As Gerard starts wadding into the mess of papers, something occurs to Gertrude. “Gerard, where’s Michael?” She asks, raising her voice so the man will hear her better. She tries and fails to ignore the way Delores flinches at the sound.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Huh?” Gerard makes a confused noise, poking his head out from between a stack of disorganized boxes. “What do you mean</span>
  <em>
    <span> ‘where’s Michael’? </span>
  </em>
  <span>He’s in, boss, just look around. What am I, some sorta bloody Michaelsitter?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gertrude rolls her eyes, unimpressed by the boy’s complaining. “With how much you talk about that boy, you may as well be.” She mutters, missing the fact that Gerard is left sputtering behind his wall of statements and paperwork.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As if he’s able to simply know when he’s been called upon, Michael comes shuffling into the archives a moment later from the kitchen, balancing a tray with two teacups and a platter of biscuits on it. “Don't you try to pretend, it's my feeling we'll win in the end. I won't harm you or touch your defenses; vanity, insecurity!” He sings, a pair of headphones on his head connected to a walkman suggesting he can’t hear anything through his music, and considering the fact that his eyes are closed, he probably can’t see that anyone but him and Gerard are here, either. “Don't you forget about me, I'll be alone, dancing you know it, baby. Going to take you apart, I'll put us back together at heart, baby!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>While Delores dances in place, clearly loving this song, Gertrude scowls beside her, crossing her arms and tapping her foot as she waits for the tall blond to notice her. She refuses to admit that her foot-tapping is in-sync with Delores’s dancing.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But Michael just keeps on going, completely oblivious to his surroundings as he sets his tray of treats down on his desk, picking up an empty Coca Cola bottle to use as a makeshift microphone. “Don't you, forget about me. Don't, don't, don't, don't! Don't you, forget about me,” He does a little twirl, fully immersed in his inopportune dance party. “As you walk on by, will you call my name? As you walk on by, will you call my name? When you walk away… or will you walk away? Will you walk on by? Come on, call my name! Will you call my name?” When the song ends, he finally opens his eyes, a loose smile on his face. Still not noticing the audience that’s standing behind him after all his twirling, Michael pulls off his headphones, clearly confused. “Gerry? Wh-Where are you at, buddy? I th-thought you </span>
  <em>
    <span>loved </span>
  </em>
  <span>th-” He cuts himself off as he turns around, eyes landing on Gertrude.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hello, Michael,” Gertrude greets the man in the sternest no-nonsense tone she can manage, if only because if she doesn’t, she has a feeling she might just start laughing, and she’s not about to be caught acting silly in front of her assistants or Delores. “I see you’ve been getting absolutely no work done while I was gone. Tell me, should I hire a sitter of some kind to keep an eye on you just so I can make sure statements get followed up on, or do you have a good reason for acting like a teenager? This is unacceptable behavior and you know it, Michael. Do you have </span>
  <em>
    <span>anything </span>
  </em>
  <span>to say for yourself?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Michael blushes bright red with embarrassment, subconsciously gripping his headphones rather tightly, as if he’s scared Gertrude will take them away and break them. The archivist has a feeling someone’s done that to him before, though she tries not to think about it too hard. “I’m s-sorry, Mrs. R-Robinson,” Michael says in a rush, voice even more jittery than usual. “I s-swear I’ve been w-working a lot today, I j-just-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“-We were</span>
  <em>
    <span> bored,</span>
  </em>
  <span> boss,” Gerard explains, speaking up so that Michael won’t have to take all of the blame. He comes out from the not-so pragmatic sea with a large stack of statements in his arms, though his gaze is as sharp as ever when he glares at Gertrude, clearly upset that she snapped at his coworker. “Michael got a lot of work done today, and so did I; we were just winding down since the workday is almost over. It’s not a big deal.” He says that last part rather gently, trying to remind Gertrude that it’s okay for them all to relax sometimes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gertrude let’s out a long, irritated sigh… but the boy has a point. Besides, it’s not like she doesn’t allow Michael and him to listen to music sometimes, so long as they’re wearing headphones and getting work done. “I suppose you’re right,” She mutters, willing to admit her mistake. She turns to Michael, not quite giving him a </span>
  <em>
    <span>sorry </span>
  </em>
  <span>look, but at least she doesn’t glare at him anymore. “I’m sorry for snapping at you, Michael. However, if you’re going to listen to music in the archives, I ask that you please don’t dance or sing while you do so, as I don’t want Elias or any other visitors to get the wrong idea. Remember, our department is about accepting statements from the public and offering them assistance if they are struggling, and we can’t afford for them to not take us seriously, understand?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Michael gives a quick nod, still wearing an expression that looks more befitting of a kicked puppy. “Y-Yes, ma’am… it’ll n-never happen again, I p-promise.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gertrude bites back a groan, if only because Michael is making her feel even worse for yelling at him. “Good </span>
  <em>
    <span>lord,</span>
  </em>
  <span> Michael… you’re not in trouble anymore, alright?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Michael nods again, trying so hard to calm himself down, but it’s obvious that Gertrude’s scolding had a bigger effect on him than either of them expected. “G-Got it,” He agrees, averting his eyes in shame. After a few long, tense seconds, he gestures at the teacups and biscuits nearby. “Um… I m-made some tea for me and Gerry, b-but you and Mrs. Sims can h-have them if you’d… if you’d like.” He offers, trying his damnedest to repair the damage that isn’t even there.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Pitying him, Gertrude offers him a smirk. “Thank you, Michael, that’s very kind of you, but I think Mrs. Sims and I are fine at the moment. You and Gerard should have them; they’re for you, after all, and you deserve something nice after a long day of work.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, I kinda want my tea still,” Gerard adds, obviously trying to joke around, but he backtracks quickly, remembering at the last minute that Michael doesn’t respond well to sarcasm. “It smells really nice, dude… you put anything special in?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Huh? O-Oh yeah, I um, p-put some f-flavored honey in it!” Michael explains, brightening up quickly now that no one is focusing on his slip-up anymore.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gerard smiles like a shark, handing off the statements to Gertrude with a wink. “Really now? Sounds lovely. Come on, let’s have our break in the kitchen, yeah? Leave the ladies to their horror stories.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Horror stories?” Michael raises an eyebrow at that, and it’s only now that he actually realizes that Delores is here. “Oh, h-hello Mrs. Sims! H-How’re you doing?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m fine, honey, thanks for asking,” Delores says, her expression suggesting she was made very uncomfortable by the scolding earlier. “You and Gerry have a good break, alright? I just need to go over some stuff with Mrs. Robinson.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, okay,” Michael takes that just fine, offering her a nervous wave as he moves to leave with Gerard. “H-Have a nice day, Mrs. S-Sims!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You too, sweetie!” Delores chirps, waving him off as she follows Gertrude in turn to her office, leaving the main room of the archives empty, save of course for all the office equipment and statements.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As they leave the men be, Gertrude feels another pang of guilt form and expand in her chest, making her almost wish she could be as detached as some of the avatars she’s met while working as the archivist. She doesn’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>hate </span>
  </em>
  <span>Michael by any means- hell, she considers herself to be almost </span>
  <em>
    <span>fond </span>
  </em>
  <span>of the boy sometimes- but his relentless skittishness bothers her a great deal. She has a feeling he was abused early on in his life, likely by his parents or another adult that was meant to care for him, but in any case, it’s left him jumpier than a prowling cat and just as clingy once someone shows him even an ounce of affection. Although the less helpful side-effects aren’t exactly fun to deal with, Gertrude has to admit that Michael is a good assistant, being far more intelligent than he lets on, and he’s such a </span>
  <em>
    <span>sweet </span>
  </em>
  <span>lad, he can get himself into damn near anywhere with that funny little smile of his. At the thought, Gertrude shakes her head, embarrassed that she even thought of it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Delores, in the meantime, gives Gertrude a rare scowl the minute the door to her office is closed. “You really didn’t need to scold Michael like that,” She says, irritated as she crosses her arms at the older woman. “It’s not like he was hurting anyone. If anything, it was quite cute to watch!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gertrude lets out the sigh she’s been holding in, tempted to glare at Delores for bringing this up, but she won’t for the sake of not making this disagreement between them any worse. “The institute’s image is already quite… </span>
  <em>
    <span>damaged,”</span>
  </em>
  <span> She averts her eyes, almost embarrassed herself, even if it’s not her doing. “Very few people take our organization seriously, and those that do aren’t exactly the most respected of the paranormal community. We rely heavily on public opinion, and having our archival assistants dancing around all willy nilly is only going to make things worse for us in the long-run,” She sighs again, this time with more guilt than anything else. “I don’t like being hard on Michael, but that boy just doesn’t think before he acts sometimes, and I </span>
  <em>
    <span>need </span>
  </em>
  <span>him to be more conscientious of his role in the institute.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s still not a good excuse for snapping at him,” Delores insists, refusing to bend on the matter. “I’m sure you know better than anyone that he’s a rather nervous lad… it won’t do anyone any good if you shout at him.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I know,” Gertrude admits, eyes fixated on her desk, which has only gotten messier as the year has gone on; an unfortunate side-effect of unlearning her cleaning habits, if only so Elias will never be able to find anything important down here. “I’ll… I’ll find a way to make it up to him, I promise. Now, I think you’re in dire need of a story, yes?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>That gets Delores back on track, and again, her eyes shine that bright green, not that she seems to notice. “I’d love one, thank you,” She says in a voice that almost isn’t her own. Without so much as blinking, she grabs the first statement off the top of the pile in Gertrude’s arms, retreating with it to the dusty couch in the corner of the room. She sits down, curling up on the sofa as she opens the folder, a small smile forming on her face as she begins to read it. “Statement of Isaac De León, regarding the strange disappearance of his family’s dog. Original statement given January ninth, eighteen ninety-one. Audio recording by Delores Sims, shift manager at Banner Hospital and occasional visitor to the archives of the Magnus Institute, London. Statement begins.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As Delores begins to rattle off the contents of the statement, Gertrude just stares at her in utter disbelief, something in her gut telling her she oughta buy herself a handgun and get rid of Delores and her child before it’s too late, and yet… she </span>
  <em>
    <span>can’t, </span>
  </em>
  <span>and she knows it’s useless to even think about trying. Offhandedly, it occurs to the archivist that Delores mentioned this being an audio recording, but neither woman brought a tape recorder. Developing a hunch, Gertrude begins looking around her office, ignoring her guest as she continues to read aloud. Eventually, she finds exactly what she’s looking for; under a small stack of papers on her desk is a tape recorder, which she knows certainly wasn’t there before, and to make the situation even stranger, it’s recording. Gertrude picks the recorder up, looking it over in her hands. This is the second time a tape recorder has appeared out of nowhere… it can’t be a coincidence that in both instances, Delores has been involved.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gertrude turns the rape recorder over in her hands, raising an eyebrow. No batteries again. She’s never had a tape recorder act like this before, so it makes her more than a little uneasy. Does this have something to do with Elias, Delores, or something else entirely? While the archivist would love to pin this on her demon of a boss, she seriously doubts this is his doing, as he’s more fond of looking than listening. Maybe this is because of Delores, but that just doesn’t sit right with Gertrude, as it was </span>
  <em>
    <span>Alexander </span>
  </em>
  <span>that had the initial connection with the supernatural, not her. So that just leaves this up to something unknown to her… why</span>
  <em>
    <span> tape recorders</span>
  </em>
  <span> of all things!? Is it because they’re the only piece of technology that Gertrude has been able to record statements on through audio, or is there something more to this? What in the world is controlling them? She isn’t even sure how to go about testing anything yet, considering the fact that this is only the second time it’s happened.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Quietly, Gertrude glances at Delores again, whose eyes are locked onto the paper in front of her, her mouth moving a mile a minute as she reads the story for all to hear. Maybe she should consider having Delores here more often, to see if the tape recorders will keep appearing. For now though, she’ll just make sure the widow stays sated, both for her and the public’s sake.</span>
</p><hr/><p>
  <span>They’re seven months into the pregnancy, and despite her best efforts, Gertrude Robinson finds herself growing increasingly nervous as the weeks tick by, driving her ever closer to the due date. She goes with Delores to all of her doctor appointments now- that, or she has Gerard go with her- and she’s even there for the obligatory baby shower that Delores’s work friends hold for her. When they ask her who she is, Gertrude dismisses herself as an old friend from back in the day, and she’s thankful for the fact that none of them question her for more details. However, her having gone to the shower presents a whole new dilemma, in that Delores is now intent on throwing her friend a birthday party, seeing as her birthday is coming up and all (thanks a lot for mentioning that in front of her, </span>
  <em>
    <span>Michael). </span>
  </em>
  <span>Gertrude has assured her multiple times that it’s unnecessary, that she’s never cared for such theatrics, but once the widow gets her mind set on something, there’s no changing it. The archivist prays to a higher power that stubbornness isn’t as genetic as she fears, or she’s done for.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Even </span>
  <em>
    <span>with </span>
  </em>
  <span>Delores being all excited about the upcoming birthday, and therefore bringing it up constantly in an attempt to plan something for it, Gertrude tries not to think about her birthday too hard, mostly because she really doesn’t want to admit that she’s in spitting distance of sixty. It’s not that she’s obsessed with her youth or anything of that nature, it’s just that some part of her is worried about losing her momentum, of not being able to keep up with the things that go bump in the night. Maybe </span>
  <em>
    <span>this </span>
  </em>
  <span>is why Elias is so dead set on making a new archivist through Delores… Gertrude shivers, and stubbornly, she tries not to let it get to her. Instead, she hikes up her purse on her shoulder, breathing a sigh of relief as she makes her way up the road to the institute, telling herself all the while that she can distract herself with work. Yes, that’ll be the ticket; as soon as she gets in, she’ll say her morning hellos and get started on a statement as soon as she can, and if she’s lucky, it’ll keep her occupied until her lunch break.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As Gertrude steps into the lobby, the secretary behind the desk smiles at her. “Good morning, Mrs. Robinson!” The man says, smiling from ear to ear with energy that the archivist knows could only have been attained by drinking copious amounts of caffeine. “How are you doing today? Did you have a good start to your day?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes, it was fine, thank you,” Gertrude mutters, not really paying the man much mind. She strides past the desk and towards the stairwell, not even looking at the secretary. “Have a good day.” She barely gets it out before she’s heading downstairs, the door slamming shut behind her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s certainly not polite to talk to people like that, but Gertrude hates making small-talk, especially with other employees of the institute. They’re all friendly enough to her, at least for the most part, but almost no one outside of the archives knows what’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>really </span>
  </em>
  <span>going on, and for their sake, the archivist tries to keep her distance from all of them. Besides, she’s a busy woman, and she’s sure they’re busy too, so there’s no point in wasting time by needlessly socializing. Careful not to trip on her way down the stairs- blast these damn steps; she </span>
  <em>
    <span>really </span>
  </em>
  <span>needs to badger Elias more about installing that elevator he promised at last year’s Christmas party- Gertrude heads to the bottom floor of the institute, where the archives are located. Whether they were put here on purpose is beyond her, though she has a feeling the isolation was most certainly intentional. Sure, it keeps most of the other employees from poking around where they shouldn’t, but Gertrude sure as hell wishes it wasn’t such a hike to get to her bloody office.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As she reaches the bottom of the stairs, she pauses, perturbed by what she sees. The lights in the archives are off, which is rather unusual, as Michael tends to come in at least an hour or so earlier than her. Is he sick? Gertrude hopes not; she still needs to get his follow-up on that statement about the radioactive parasite in Norway, if only because Adelard’s been breathing down her neck for an update. She honestly doesn’t think it’s as big a deal as he’s making it out to be, but better safe than sorry. Actually, come to think of it, maybe it </span>
  <em>
    <span>would </span>
  </em>
  <span>be good if Michael’s out today, as that statement sounds like just the distraction she needs to get through the day. Content now with this idea, Gertrude goes to unlock the archives, caught off-guard a second time when she discovers that it’s unlocked. So Michael </span>
  <em>
    <span>is </span>
  </em>
  <span>in today? Then why are the lights off? Last time she checked, that man is </span>
  <em>
    <span>terrified </span>
  </em>
  <span>of the dark!</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Okay, something </span>
  <em>
    <span>weird </span>
  </em>
  <span>is going on, and weird is never good in this line of work. Taking a deep breath, Gertrude pushes the door open with one hand, the other tight around the handle of her cane, ready to unsheathe her sword at a moment’s notice.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The </span>
  <em>
    <span>millisecond </span>
  </em>
  <span>the door stops moving, the archivist is met by the lights being snapped to life and a chorus of voices all screaming in her face. “HAPPY BIRTHDAY, GERTRUDE!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hell's bells!” Gertrude screams in turn, nearly toppling over in her frantic scramble to draw her sword out, but Michael stops her just in time.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I-It’s okay, Mrs. Robinson! It’s j-just us!” Michael assures, the picture of true worry. He spares her a nervous smile, the gesture apologetic in nature. “I’m so s-sorry, we just wanted to s-surprise you, that’s all!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t ruin it, Michael!” Gerard warns, giving the taller man a brief, but not at all serious glare. He then grins like the Cheshire Cat at Gertrude, not the least bit sorry for what he’s done. “Happy birthday, boss.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What in the </span>
  <em>
    <span>world </span>
  </em>
  <span>has gotten into you two!? Have you gone </span>
  <em>
    <span>mad!?</span>
  </em>
  <span>” Gertrude snaps, standing up and adjusting her clothes with a menacing glare.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gerard shrugs nonchalantly. “What? Are we not allowed to celebrate our boss’s birthday? Besides, this wasn’t even </span>
  <em>
    <span>our </span>
  </em>
  <span>idea.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gertrude huffs, rolling her eyes at Gerard’s excuse. “Oh? And whose bright idea was it, then?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That would me,” A voice says, and moments later, Delores comes waddling out of the kitchen, using her expanded belly to help balance a covered platter. Once she reaches the boys and her friend, Delores sets the platter aside, offering Gertrude her own apology in the form of a smile. “Sorry if we scared you, Gertrude, but I </span>
  <em>
    <span>really </span>
  </em>
  <span>wanted this to be a surprise. Happy birthday!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“A card would have sufficed.” Gertrude grumbles, even though some small part of her warms up at all of this. It’s been a few years since she did anything special for her birthday, and she can’t help but feel almost happy that her assistants and friend remembered.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, but it’s not half as funny as scaring the pants off ya,” Gerard says, blowing a party horn in her face without so much as blinking. “So how old are ya, boss? Like, a thousand?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gertrude scoffs, opening her mouth to answer, but a voice from the stairwell beats her to the punch. “She’s fifty-five, but she’s rather embarrassed that she looks much older than that.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Everyone goes rigid as they turn to face the voice, eyes locked onto Elias as he steps into the room, the man wearing a pleasant enough smile, but it makes the group shiver, unnerved by his very presence. “Sorry, am I interrupting the party? I just wanted to drop by and wish a happy birthday to my dear archivist.” Elias remains cool as a cucumber, seemingly undeterred by everyone staring at him. If anything, he might like it… voyeuristic </span>
  <em>
    <span>bastard.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“H-Hello, Mr. Bouchard,” Michael ends up being the one to acknowledge Elias first, seeing as he only fears the man because he’s his boss’s boss, and not because he serves an Eldritch horror of unimaginable power. “S-Sorry for not w-working right now, we just-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“-Wanted to throw Gertrude a party? I certainly take no issue with that,” Elias assures, which makes Michael and no one else relax. He then turns to Delores, giving her a particularly unnerving smirk. “Ah, hello there, Delores. I see you </span>
  <em>
    <span>also </span>
  </em>
  <span>came to give your congratulations to the birthday girl. And how </span>
  <em>
    <span>are </span>
  </em>
  <span>you doing these days? Staying healthy?” He says this all while not so subtly staring at the pregnant woman’s stomach, as if he’s addressing the unborn baby and not her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Delores dry-swallows, clearly afraid, but she puts on a brave face regardless. “I’m fine.” She says, not quite meeting Elias’s eyes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Elias raises an eyebrow, waiting for her to continue. When she doesn’t, he lets out a brief huff of disappointment. “That’s it? Just </span>
  <em>
    <span>fine?</span>
  </em>
  <span> Surely you’re feeling something </span>
  <em>
    <span>more </span>
  </em>
  <span>than that.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“If she’s fine, then she’s fine,” Gerard growls, stepping in-between Elias and Delores without a second thought. Gertrude can’t help but smirk at the sight, grateful that the goth is so protective of the people he cares about. “Maybe you oughta keep your questions to yourself, old man.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m sorry, but </span>
  <em>
    <span>who </span>
  </em>
  <span>are you? I’m afraid we haven’t formally met,” Elias steps forward, not even acknowledging the fact that Delores backs away from him. The man stops in front of Gerard, holding out his hand in an expectant manner. “My name is Elias Bouchard, and I run the Magnus Institute. I think I’ve seen you around here before; are you a friend of Gertrude’s?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gerard takes Elias’s hand despite the trepidation Gertrude can feel radiating off of him, the boy giving it a firm shake. “Uh, I guess? I just come by and help out a bit, here and there.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You really should be </span>
  <em>
    <span>paid </span>
  </em>
  <span>for your work,” Elias says, his smile never wavering. If anything, it widens a fraction. “Have you considered coming to work here full-time? I’m sure Michael has already told you how well we pay our employees, and we have </span>
  <em>
    <span>amazing </span>
  </em>
  <span>benefits.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Before Gerard can answer, Gertrude steps in-between the two men, subconsciously holding a hand over Gerard’s abdomen to push him away from her boss. “He’s not looking for a full-time job, Elias. He’s just a friend.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Maybe part-time?” Elias offers. When this is met with an uneasy silence, he quietly laughs to himself. “So sorry, I couldn’t help myself. Now then, seeing as we’re all celebrating dear Gertrude’s birthday, am I right to assume we’ll be having cake? I do </span>
  <em>
    <span>love </span>
  </em>
  <span>a good cake.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Aww…” Michael whines, coming off as genuinely disappointed. “M-Mr. Bouchard, you’ve r-ruined the surprise!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It wasn’t like it was going to be a surprise for much longer,” Delores says, trying to make Michael feel better, but it doesn’t really work. She sighs, shaking her head in defeat. “No point in waiting then… I was going to save the cake for last, but whatever gets Mr. Bouchard out of here faster, the better.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Touche,” Elias mutters, as if it’s unreasonable for Delores to want him gone. “Why so quick to make me leave, hm? Planning on doing more than a light celebration down here? I must say, if there’s wine to be had, I’m perfectly fine with you all consuming a little, so long as you don’t become too intoxicated to fulfill your duties.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s not the reason and you </span>
  <em>
    <span>know it,</span>
  </em>
  <span> you pompous prick,” Gerard snaps, completely fed up with everyone dancing around the elephant in the room. “You stalk her every bloody day with hardly any breaks; it’s a wonder she hasn’t shot your sorry arse yet. Hell, keep it up and I just might do it myself!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Gerard!” Gertrude scolds, glaring at the young man.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gerard shrugs, glaring right back at the woman. “What? Am I</span>
  <em>
    <span> wrong?”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Elias chuckles, much to Gertrude’s relief; better than him forcing unpleasant memories into Gerard’s head. “Only </span>
  <em>
    <span>slightly </span>
  </em>
  <span>wrong, young sir. I’m not stalking Mrs. Sims by </span>
  <em>
    <span>any </span>
  </em>
  <span>means, I’m simply…” He trails off, searching for the right words. “Keeping an </span>
  <em>
    <span>eye </span>
  </em>
  <span>on her, one might say.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Michael, in the meantime, gives Elias the most confused look he can manage, which is very confused indeed. “Wait, Mr. Bouchard was the one sta-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“-So, we’re having cake? What flavor is it?” Gertrude only asks this in order to shut Michael up, before Elias can spill anymore secrets in front of him. At this point, she knows she has to fill him in on what’s really going on, but she can’t be doing it all at once, lest she accidentally overwhelm the poor lad.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Delores brightens up a bit, happy to get off the subject of her stalker. “It’s what Gerard said your favorite is; chocolate and banana.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gertrude startles at that, shooting Gerard a confused look.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gerard has the balls to grin at her, the cheeky brat. “I do my research.” He says, giving away exactly no details as to how he found this information out.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Another reason you would be a great fit for our institute,” Elias practically chirps, clapping Gerard on the shoulder. He then smiles at Delores, producing another shiver from the pregnant woman. “Well, what are we waiting for? Aren’t we having cake soon?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Mrs. R-Robinson has to m-make a birthday wish first!” Michael insists, helping Delores transport the cake to a desk that’s recently been cleared for this specific purpose. He pulls off the cover, revealing a large brown and yellow cake underneath. It’s not all that pretty, but it sure does look appetizing.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Even as she admires the cake, Gertrude doesn’t miss the implications of Michael’s comment. “I do hope you aren’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>serious,</span>
  </em>
  <span> Michael,” She says, giving the man an unimpressed raise of one of her eyebrows. “Not only are </span>
  <em>
    <span>‘birthday wishes’</span>
  </em>
  <span> an inane tradition, but I will </span>
  <em>
    <span>not </span>
  </em>
  <span>have you lighting any fires in the archives!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Maybe </span>
  <em>
    <span>he </span>
  </em>
  <span>won’t, but <em>I</em> will!” Gerard cheers, grinning from ear to ear as he holds up one of his lighters. He doesn’t waver when Gertrude proceeds to glare daggers at him, remaining infuriatingly cheeky. “What? It’s on brand for me, boss.” He then lights all five of the candles on the cake, closing his lighter as soon as he’s finished.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As the others sing the classic birthday song around her, Gertrude finds her eyes transfixed on the little flames, and although Agnes isn’t her, she can practically feel her bondmate’s own happy birthday message through the dancing embers. Unable to keep back a smile- even as Elias says </span>
  <em>
    <span>“dear archivist”</span>
  </em>
  <span> instead of </span>
  <em>
    <span>“dear Gertrude”</span>
  </em>
  <span> like everyone else, making even </span>
  <em>
    <span>Michael </span>
  </em>
  <span>give him a bewildered look- the old woman leans forward and blows the candles out, wincing slightly as everyone erupts into a chorus of cheers and claps. Again, the archivist isn’t exactly </span>
  <em>
    <span>excited </span>
  </em>
  <span>to be growing yet another year old, and by extension a year closer to her inevitable demise, but she supposes that she can bear celebrating it if it means she can have some of her favorite cake. Good lord, it looks so </span>
  <em>
    <span>moist,</span>
  </em>
  <span> she can’t wait to find out if it takes as good as it looks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So w-what did you wish for, Mrs. Robinson?” Michael asks, ever the curious assistant.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gertrude refuses to answer, so Elias does it for her. “She hopes I keel over, preferably from blood poisoning or something equally as painful.” He says, not the least bit phased by this.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gerard cackles, thoroughly amused. “Oh yeah? Cheers, I’ll drink to that!” And that’s everyone’s only warning before he busts out two six packs of beer and a bottle of decently fine wine.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ooo, wine. What year is that?” Elias asks, leaning a bit too close to Gerard for comfort so he can try and peek at the label.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Um, check a calendar maybe?” Gerard suggests, not understanding Elias’s question. He starts smiling again though as he pops open the bottle, pouring a glass for Gertrude and setting it down beside the cake. “Here you are, boss. Happy birthday!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gertrude’s tempted to do a lot of things- grab a handful of cake and smear it on Elias’s infuriatingly nice suie, take her drink and splash it on the man’s crotch, get up and punch him in the fucking mouth like he deserves- but in the end she just sighs, resigned to fighting back in a more subtle fashion as she’s always been, even if she </span>
  <em>
    <span>is </span>
  </em>
  <span>seriously contemplating beating Elias with her cane right now. “Thank you, Gerard.” She mutters, and after tipping the glass in a mock attempt at a toast, she downs it in one go. It doesn’t taste good, but it’s good enough for her.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Good god, do I love writing for Gerry and Michael (especially Gerry)! By the way, the song Michael was singing is “Don’t You (Forget About Me)” by Simple Minds (some of y’all probably know it best as the ending song from “The Breakfast Club”), and I thought it would be an appropriate song for Michael to be singing, seeing as the year in this fic is 1987. Did you guys like this chapter? Please let me know if you did through a comment or the tags on Tumblr! Thank you so much for reading!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. October Skies</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>(Yes, the chapter title is a reference to one of my favorite movies, don’t fucking @ me) I did more research than I thought I would to make sure the birth was at least a LITTLE accurate, but I think the baby having supernatural powers gives me a bit of a free pass for any inconsistencies I absolutely missed (though they will still haunt my dreams). In other news, I reference the Beholding showing up in a variety of colors for different avatars/people marked, an idea I got from a really good post that you can find here(https://supercasey.tumblr.com/post/629129437204676608/cosmic-nopedog-have-some-uhhhhhhhhhhhhh), so please check it out if you can, and give the artist your love! Anyways, that’s enough from me; I hope you guys enjoy this chapter!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>October 26th, 1987 is a date that Gertrude Robinson doesn’t think she’ll forget anytime soon, if ever, the events destined to be burnt into her memory for as long as she may live. A few weeks before the delivery date, Delores asks her to come to stay at her house until it’s time, an offer the archivist doesn’t even think to refuse, not when the situation is still so dire. It’s… it’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>weird,</span>
  </em>
  <span> living in someone else’s house, especially considering the circumstances, but she manages well enough, busying herself with research whenever she’s not in the archives. Most of this research is on how to complete a home birth on her own, seeing as she doesn’t trust any hospitals in London not to let Elias take the baby once they’re born. On that note, Gertrude thinks she really oughta stop referring to the baby with non-gendered pronouns, as although Delores seemed intent on doing so at first, Elias won’t stop referring to the child as a boy in his occasional conversations with her, and it seems obvious now that the widow will be having one.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>At the very least, this has given Delores a wonderful distraction in the form of tossing around baby names, which Gertrude has humored out of pity. After all, if the poor dear has to give up her child, she may as well get the chance to at least </span>
  <em>
    <span>name </span>
  </em>
  <span>him; it’s not like the archivist even wanted to name him to begin with. So far, the winning names are Alexander (a small </span>
  <em>
    <span>“fuck you”</span>
  </em>
  <span> to the Eye and Elias, but apparently Xander didn’t like legacy names), Sebastian (a bit too common for Gertrude’s tastes, but somehow rather fitting), Gerard/Michael (the boys damn near </span>
  <em>
    <span>cried </span>
  </em>
  <span>when they were told those were possibilities, but Gertrude prays Delores is kidding around), and Oliver (again, it’s predictable, but still undeniably a good name). In all honesty, Gertrude doubts any of these names will stick, and in the end it’ll probably be a spur of the moment affair, which seems… it seems </span>
  <em>
    <span>right,</span>
  </em>
  <span> considering how much planning Elias and his associates have put into this.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Speaking of Elias, his appearances have been strangely enough pattering off more and more, the man now only appearing once every three days instead of once every three hours. Gerard thinks it’s because Gertrude has moved in and her presence is scaring him off, but Gertrude </span>
  <em>
    <span>Knows </span>
  </em>
  <span>it’s because he’s biding his time, just </span>
  <em>
    <span>waiting </span>
  </em>
  <span>for the perfect moment to strike, a moment she knows is quickly approaching, and will hit her like a bag of bricks when it gets here. Like she’s said, October 26th is when it finally happens. It’s raining, the sky dreadfully dark with absolutely no signs of sunshine or peacefulness in sight. The world outside is decorated in orange and black, because although Halloween isn’t much of a tradition here in England, the amount of American tourists and immigrants has almost </span>
  <em>
    <span>required </span>
  </em>
  <span>their neighbors to take part, resulting in carved pumpkins on almost every doorstep and plenty of piles of dead leaves to hide spooky decorations in.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Altogether, the scenery does nothing to help Delores or Gertrude’s mood, the two women becoming all the more tense as they wait for the inevitable. Quietly, Gertrude is suddenly more grateful than ever before that Adelard got her a sword disguised as a cane to keep on her at all times. She doesn’t go to work today, simply </span>
  <em>
    <span>Knowing </span>
  </em>
  <span>that she’s needed here, and to her dread but not surprise, Gerard let’s her know via email that Elias has </span>
  <em>
    <span>also </span>
  </em>
  <span>taken the day off. Scarily enough, he’s taken it off on the grounds that he’s supposedly going to be picking up his newborn son from an adoption center, which has been met with a round of respectful congratulations from the rest of the institute’s staff, and abject terror from the employees down in the archives. Needless to say, this leaves Gertrude tense with anticipation, carrying her sword on her at all times as the hours slowly tick by.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>At three-thirteen in the afternoon, Gertrude is sitting by the window in the living room, Colonel Catnip lying curled into a comfortable ball on her lap, when she hears a loud clatter from the kitchen. She jumps up right away, grateful that the cat has the good sense to not fight her on the matter. In fact, he seems just as concerned as she is, taking off in a sprint towards the source of the noise. “Delores? Delores, is everything alright?” Gertrude calls out, even as she feels every bone in her body shiver with newfound knowledge.</span>
  <em>
    <span> It’s time.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“I think… I think my water just broke,” Delores says almost too calmly. She comes waddling out of the kitchen, and from underneath the basketball that is her stomach, Gertrude can see that her legs are soaked with a clear, sticky liquid. “Gertrude, I think it’s happening. Oh god, it’s happening, it’s happening!” She starts to hyperventilate, the shock giving way to panic.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gertrude is on her feet in no time, quick to grab Delores’s wrists in order to keep her from falling over. “It’s going to be alright, Delores,” She promises in a low, comforting voice, pulling slightly on the other woman’s hands in an attempt to guide her to the staircase. “Come along, let’s get you all set up in your room.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“W-What if I </span>
  <em>
    <span>fall?”</span>
  </em>
  <span> Delores asks, a very </span>
  <em>
    <span>real </span>
  </em>
  <span>fear filling her throat. She clings to Gertrude like her life depends on it, tears beginning to cascade down her beautiful face. “Oh g-god, what if he kills me like he did Xander!?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Then let’s not give him the chance. I’m sure the guest bedroom will do just fine,” Internally, Gertrude wants to roll her eyes, as she seriously doubts Elias would murder Delores and her unborn son after nearly a year of plotting, but whatever keeps Delores from having a full-blown panic attack, the better. “Here darling, lean on me. I won’t let you fall.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Delores nods, crying even as she shakily walks with Gertrude down the hall and into the guest bedroom, which has up until recently been the archivist’s, but whatever, it’s not like she was planning on staying much longer anyways. After getting the widow laid out on her bed, the older woman hurries upstairs and begins the laborious task of transporting everything for the birth downstairs, ignoring Colonel Catnip as the tomcat follows after her, the feline doing his part by dragging a few pillows down into the guest room, and to her confusion, the photograph of Alexander that Delores keeps on her bedside table. This puzzles Gertrude, the archivist confused as to how Colonel Catnip knows that he should bring that to his owner, but eventually she brushes it off, not having time to worry about the cat. He’s just a very well-trained, intelligent cat, that’s all!</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Once she has everything more or less ready, Gertrude prepares the bed as well as she can, fluffing up pillows and arranging them around and behind Delores, aiming to make the pregnant woman as comfortable as physically possible, which is unfortunately not as simple as it sounds, as she isn’t exactly the strongest woman in London. Oh, what she wouldn’t give for Gerard and Michael’s help right now; they could just pick the girl up and carry her upstairs instead of having to improvise! Delores is mostly unresponsive throughout all of this, somewhere between mournful and resigned as she simply lays there, squirming and moaning on occasion from just how much it all hurts. Gertrude says nothing on the matter, half scared she might make Delores feel even worse by saying the wrong thing. Luckily for her, she’s too busy with prepping everything to talk, running through a mental checklist while the widow struggles to relax.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s as Gertrude is boiling water in the kitchen that something in the air shifts, and as Delores screams out in response to a particularly bad contraction, there’s a knock at the door.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gertrude pauses, one of her hands hovering over the handle of her cane, subconsciously tracing her fingers over the scorch marks Agnes left behind a few months ago. It’s only now that she realizes that she should’ve brought a gun as well. After a few seconds of tense silence, there’s another knock at the door, this one more insistent than the first. Swallowing around a lump stuck in her throat, Gertrude steps closer to the door, already </span>
  <em>
    <span>Knowing </span>
  </em>
  <span>who’s waiting for her on the other side. She stops again, closing her eyes and focusing with all her might, trying to </span>
  <em>
    <span>See </span>
  </em>
  <span>what exactly is waiting for her outside. Deep down, Gertrude knows she isn’t exactly the best archivist there’s ever been, and that she’s hardly in touch enough with her patron to make full use of it’s powers, but she prays that, just this once, it will answer her call and help her in her time of great need, even if what she </span>
  <em>
    <span>needs </span>
  </em>
  <span>is to fight it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Her head aches with pain, sharp and sudden, yet from it blossoms an image, and although her eyes are still closed, Gertrude can finally see what’s on the other side of the door. There stands Elias, hands behind his back and a small, sickeningly kind smile on his stolen face. He’s well dressed in a tailored suit and bow-tie, and in his arms he’s juggling between carrying a large gift basket, a bouquet of flowers in a pretty vase, and an umbrella to keep himself dry. Gertrude breathes, in and out, in and out, and tries to look </span>
  <em>
    <span>closer,</span>
  </em>
  <span> to figure out if her employer has brought a weapon with him, or possibly something even worse than that. For just a few seconds, she can make out the shape of </span>
  <em>
    <span>something</span>
  </em>
  <span> hidden in his jacket, but Elias must sense her eyes on him by now- he probably felt them the minute she started to really look- and through that link he strikes back at her, causing the archivist to bite back a scream as sharp, scorching pain shoots through her retinas.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s not going to work on me, Gertrude,” Elias’s muffled voice warns from the other side of the door, his tone somewhere between amused and just a little bit annoyed. He looks to have gotten rained on, so that’s probably part of why he’s in a bad mood. That, </span>
  <em>
    <span>or </span>
  </em>
  <span>he’s sick and tired of his archivist constantly getting in his way. Yeah, that sounds more likely. “Now would you </span>
  <em>
    <span>please </span>
  </em>
  <span>open the door? It’s raining, and I’d hate for my gifts to be ruined. Besides, Delores shouldn’t be left alone much longer, what with her current condition and all. The birth of a child is, from what I understand, a very painful and dangerous experience.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gertrude weighs her options in her head, which is made much more difficult by her newfound headache. If she lets Elias in, that would be like inviting a wolf into a sheep’s pen, but it’s not like the wolf can’t force his way in eventually, right? So what’s better; letting in the inevitable storm in hopes it won’t be as bad as you think it’ll be, or letting it fester and piss itself off until it’s too late to receive it’s mercy? All at once, Gertrude is forced to realize just how foolish she was to think she could stop Elias from taking the baby, but really, when did she ever actually </span>
  <em>
    <span>think </span>
  </em>
  <span>that? She knew going into this that Elias can’t be stopped, not when he’s so deeply connected to the Eye and by extension the baby. So what is she </span>
  <em>
    <span>doing </span>
  </em>
  <span>here? What’s stopping her from just slipping out the back door of Delores’s house and running away, letting Elias have what he wants while she lives to fight another day?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Well, for one thing, she isn’t about to abandon Delores like that, not after all the time they’ve spent together, and all she’s done to try and keep her safe. Not only would she be betraying her, but she’d also be betraying the child, who won’t stand a chance against whatever Elias plans on doing to him. Slowly, it dawns on Gertrude that even if she can’t keep the child away from Elias completely, she can at least be involved in his life, right? She can keep the boy in her sights, remind her boss that he can’t hide anything from her, just as she can’t hide anything from him; they are servants of the same voyeur, and who are they to turn their gazes from one another? Even if it hurts, Gertrude thinks she might be able to somehow compromise with Elias, maybe share the child between them. It’ll make for a terrible upbringing for the poor kid, but it’ll be better than being </span>
  <em>
    <span>completely </span>
  </em>
  <span>under the Eye’s control.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>With newfound vigor, Gertrude storms over to the door and pulls it open just enough for her face to be seen, the woman glaring daggers at Elias through the limited space she has to see him through. “Give me one good reason to not kill you where you stand.” She snaps, voice full of an authority that she knows she doesn’t have, but as they say, fake it ‘til you make it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I have a gun,” Elias says, pulling out a pistol from his suit jacket and giving it a little twirl, only planning on teasing the archivist when he has the advantage. After all, he knows she’s the better fighter. “But not only that, you and I both know that I’m going to get into this house one way or another, Gertrude. Honestly, do you </span>
  <em>
    <span>really </span>
  </em>
  <span>think there’s anything you can do to stop me, or change this child’s fate? He’s already been touched by the Eye, and left unchecked, he could quite literally think himself to death. Now </span>
  <em>
    <span>that </span>
  </em>
  <span>would be tragic, wouldn’t it? If anything, I’m doing Mrs. Sims a </span>
  <em>
    <span>favor </span>
  </em>
  <span>by taking the baby off her hands. So what do you say, Gertrude? Feel like actually doing some </span>
  <em>
    <span>real </span>
  </em>
  <span>good for once, or are you intent on remaining stubborn, even at the cost of an innocent child’s life?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gertrude honestly thinks on that for a few seconds, careful to school her expression into something that won’t show how uneasy she really is. “You can’t raise a child by yourself, Elias,” She says, and she doesn’t know exactly why </span>
  <em>
    <span>that’s </span>
  </em>
  <span>her argument here, but somehow she just </span>
  <em>
    <span>Knows </span>
  </em>
  <span>that Elias is less prepared than he’s letting on. “How exactly do you plan on raising him, hm? Are you going to take time off work to raise the boy? I highly doubt it, not when you’re already so busy with running the institute and planning the Watcher’s Crown, which I can only assume you need the child for. Are you going to leave him to be raised by nannies like the Lukases do with </span>
  <em>
    <span>their </span>
  </em>
  <span>children? Considering the fact that their newest addition just killed a number of people by accident, I don’t think you would be wise to do so, especially if he comes out with as powerful of a connection to the Eye as we </span>
  <em>
    <span>Know </span>
  </em>
  <span>he will.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The boy will be unbelievably clever, Elias, and he will be damn near impossible to keep in check once he learns to speak, which will likely be sooner than is natural. I give it a year at </span>
  <em>
    <span>most </span>
  </em>
  <span>before you break under the pressure,” Gertrude takes a sharp step forward, forcing Elias to back off the same distance. “You’re no father, Elias, and I’m no mother, but two heads are better than one, and you damn well know it. We don’t have to get along- hell, we don’t even have to </span>
  <em>
    <span>pretend </span>
  </em>
  <span>to like each other in front of the boy- but we </span>
  <em>
    <span>do </span>
  </em>
  <span>need to work together. So, you have two options. Either shoot me now, and try to raise a newborn, unfiltered archivist by yourself, or accept my help and share custody of the child. Up to you, Mr. Bouchard.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Elias looks quite taken aback, something that Gertrude relishes in after years of being toyed with by the bastard. At first his eyes are alight with something bordering on fearful, but then he straightens, and there it is, that inane superiority complex of his that he always falls back on when he’s been backed into a corner… or, in this case, the edge of a wet porch. “You know, Gertrude… you’re so much </span>
  <em>
    <span>bolder </span>
  </em>
  <span>than I’ve given you credit for,” Elias admits, twirling the pistol again, and although it’s obvious he wants to pull the trigger on her, he knows better than to do something that rash in a place like this, especially when he doesn’t even have the kid yet. “Perhaps I was foolish to underestimate you. Such a </span>
  <em>
    <span>bold </span>
  </em>
  <span>offer, to co-parent this child, but considering the fact that I am indeed a very busy man, and the child could certainly use a mentor for his newfound abilities, even if yours aren’t as </span>
  <em>
    <span>advanced </span>
  </em>
  <span>as I’d like them to be… yes, I suppose this </span>
  <em>
    <span>can </span>
  </em>
  <span>work. To a degree, of course, but we can discuss all of this </span>
  <em>
    <span>after </span>
  </em>
  <span>the child is born, don’t you agree?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gertrude’s still half tempted to say something more, to say something that might unopen this worthless little man, but as Delores lets out another ear splitting scream from the guest bedroom, she knows there isn’t enough time for such pettiness. “…Very well,” Nonetheless, she relents in a slow manner, her shoulders subtly sagging under the man’s stare. “I only ask that you stay in the living room until the baby has been delivered, or you might work Mrs. Sims into a panic, and neither of us want that.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And let </span>
  <em>
    <span>you </span>
  </em>
  <span>meet the boy first? I think not,” Without missing a beat, Elias shuffles past Gertrude and into the house, tossing his damp jacket onto the couch without a second thought. “I think Delores will be </span>
  <em>
    <span>delighted </span>
  </em>
  <span>to see me, once she realizes how much I’m truly helping her.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Elias, I </span>
  <em>
    <span>really </span>
  </em>
  <span>don’t think that’s a good idea.” Gertrude is two seconds away from unseething her sword, from throwing all forethought out the window in favor of flaying Elias like the pathetic fish that he is, but unfortunately, she doesn’t get the chance to.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh hush now, I know what I’m doing, Gertrude,” Elias assures, still ignoring the archivist as he makes a beeline for the guest bedroom. Without knocking, he opens the door, a bright smile on his weasley face. “Hello? Mrs. Delores? Ah, I see that your labor has been progressing well; how wonder-” He doesn’t get to finish, as he’s quickly cut off by a shrill, horrified scream like no other.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“GET</span>
  <em>
    <span> OUT!”</span>
  </em>
  <span> Although Gertrude can’t see what’s going on in there, she can certainly hear Delores clear as day, the woman’s voice louder than thunder and far more dangerous. This is followed by loud shouts from Elias, though they’re not entirely consistent. “Do you hear me, you bloody </span>
  <em>
    <span>monster!?</span>
  </em>
  <span> I said </span>
  <em>
    <span>get out!”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“OW- Delores, there’s no- ACK- need to- OW- be so- AH- </span>
  <em>
    <span>unreasonable!”</span>
  </em>
  <span> Elias cries out like a tomcat being given a bath, just as shrill as Delores but somehow full of more indignation, like it’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>insane </span>
  </em>
  <span>that he would be getting hurt after all he’s supposedly done for this woman.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>After a few more smacks of something hitting Elias, the man finally gives up and leaves the room, slamming the door shut behind him. When Gertrude catches sight of him, she can’t keep back a cackle. “Oh yes, laugh it up, you old hag.” Elias growls, glaring daggers at his archivist the whole time. His suit is a complete and utter mess now, ruffled and undone from getting jostled, while his hair has been soaked with water and pieces of broken flower stems. It seems his idea to bring Delores flowers backfired rather spectacularly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re an idiot,” Gertrude deadpans, smirking all the while. “Just wait here, Elias; the baby will come eventually, but you antagonizing Delores won’t help her along any faster.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Women and their bloody </span>
  <em>
    <span>fits…” </span>
  </em>
  <span>Elias huffs, but otherwise he doesn’t argue, having already learned the hard way that Delores won’t allow him anywhere near her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>With her boss momentarily out from underfoot, Gertrude hurries back to the bedroom, careful to knock first. “Delores, it’s me.” She warns, opening it before Delores can respond.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The sight she comes across manages to make Gertrude feel sympathetic towards Delores even more than she did before, as the widow is an absolute </span>
  <em>
    <span>wreck.</span>
  </em>
  <span> She managed to splash herself when she hit Elias with the flower pot, and there’s a variety of shredded flowers, pieces of broken ceramic, and leaves covering her body and the bed sheets, though by some miracle she seems to be unharmed by the jagged ceramic. Delores managed to rip off her skirt and panties while Gertrude was gone (hopefully </span>
  <em>
    <span>after </span>
  </em>
  <span>Elias got kicked out, but the older woman doubts that the girl is that fortunate), leaving her bare from the waist down, her legs soaked in bodily fluids. It takes a lot of self control for Gertrude not to gag or at least look away, but years of fighting back the Flesh and the Corruption have trained her to have an iron stomach.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Even without such training though, she still knows childbirth is perfectly natural, if not a bit messy, so there’s no need to get squeamish or anything of the sort; it’s just a side-effect of living as a human being. From behind her, Gertrude hears footsteps, and when she glances over her shoulder, she sees Elias peeking out at her from around the doorway, looking for all the world like an errant schoolboy who’s too scared to tell the headmistress what he’s done wrong. The thought makes Gertrude want to chuckle, but now isn’t the time. She instead takes a deep breath and, very carefully, she approaches Delores, pasting a fake but still kind smile on her face in an attempt to placate the younger woman. Unfortunately, this doesn’t help, as to Gertrude’s surprise, Delores takes to glowering at her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What is </span>
  <em>
    <span>he </span>
  </em>
  <span>doing here?” Delores asks, voice coming out as a harsh growl. She glares over Gertrude’s shoulder, aiming it directly at Elias.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Elias has the good sense to avert his eyes, though his body language, in Gertrude’s opinion, is lacking the shame he should be feeling. “I’m sorry to say, but he didn’t give me much choice, dear,” Gertrude admits, feeling guilty even though she knows there isn’t anything she could’ve done to prevent this. “It was either this, or he would’ve killed me, and I seriously doubt you would like </span>
  <em>
    <span>him </span>
  </em>
  <span>to be delivering the baby for you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Delores lets out a long sigh, her anger gone in a heartbeat. “I know it’s not your fault, Gertrude,” She promises, eyes downcast in defeat. Suddenly, she screams, causing both Gertrude and Elias to jolt in surprise. “Oh god, it hurts, it </span>
  <em>
    <span>hurts!”</span>
  </em>
  <span> She sobs, spasming on the bed as her legs spread of their own volition, the appendages surprisingly still despite all her thrashing.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Elias, go get the water on the stove-top. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Now!”</span>
  </em>
  <span> Gertrude gives the order without even thinking about it, all while she tosses off her cardigan and pulls up her shirt sleeves; she’s really glad she’s not wearing a shirt she particularly likes today, as she doubts she’ll be able to get it clean of all the blood.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She doesn’t get a response from Elias, but the sound of retreating footsteps convinces Gertrude that he heard her loud and clear. While he’s gone, she takes a moment to kneel by Delores’s side, gently running her fingers through the other woman’s long, messy hair. “It’s going to be alright, dear,” Gertrude whispers, voice coming out softer than it ever has before. “I’m here for you… I promise, I’ll take good care of you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m s-so </span>
  <em>
    <span>scared,”</span>
  </em>
  <span> Delores admits, bottom lip quivering as she continues to cry, a combination of pain and fear driving her suffering onward. “It hurts so much </span>
  <em>
    <span>worse </span>
  </em>
  <span>than I th-thought it would.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I know,” Gertrude says, continuing to pet Delores. “But it’s going to be alright. We’re going to get through this, and then you’ll finally be free of this hell.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Delores gives a shaky nod, and not knowing what else to say, Gertrude positions herself to be at the foot of the bed. By this point, Elias has returned with the water, his face the picture of both discomfort and curiosity. The archivist feels a slight desire to reassure him that it’ll be okay, but if it weren’t for him, none of this would be happening, so she chokes on it. “Just leave the water on the folding table,” She instructs, using her thumb to point at a small table she set up before he arrived. Once Elias has done as he’s been told, Gertrude levels him with a look, eyes scanning him with an air of uncertainty. “…You should wait in the living room,” She says, praying internally that Elias will actually listen to her for once. “I know you’re curious, but-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I-It’s fine, Gertrude,” Elias murmurs, eyes flickering between Delores and his archivist, and all at once, the older woman realizes that he’s probably gotten an eyeful of everything that’s happening downstairs, and he, to put it frankly, wants no part of it. “M-Maybe it would be best if I… left this to you.” With that, he’s gone in a hurry, scampering into the sitting room for relative safety.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gertrude feels another laugh bubbling up in her throat, but she swallows bile instead, not having the energy in her to find much of anything funny, not even her bastard of a boss’s squeamishness. She turns slowly to Delores, feeling the urge to run away like Elias, and yet… well, she’s made a promise, and she’ll damn well keep it. “Alright, Delores,” She breathes the words out, feeling every bone in her body tense up with anticipation. Offhandedly, she glances at a nearby clock; it’s four thirty-seven. Although she prays for a fast birth, she has a distinct feeling this’ll be awhile. “I’m going to need you to take several long, deep breaths…” She says, boxing up her feelings and setting them aside in favor of doing what has to be done.</span>
</p><hr/><p>
  <span>At eight sixteen, a loud wail rings through the house, the sound drowning out the clap of thunder that crackles outside at the same time. Elias, who had previously been trying and failing to pet a very vengeful looking Colonel Catnip, jumps in surprise, and although he’s overcome with far more anxiety than he’s used to, the soft bawling of a newborn baby almost seems to stifle that fearfulness. Another ten minutes or so pass before Gertrude opens the door to the guest bedroom, pushing it open with her foot. She waits a few seconds, listening to see if Elias will approach her, but it seems he’s still too shell-shocked to do much. Good, that might actually work in her favor here. Slowly, Gertrude tiptoes out of the bedroom, holding the bundled up baby in her arms, willing them not to shake with fear.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The baby’s wrapped in her cardigan, which probably isn’t the best replacement for a blanket, but it’s certainly better than the one Elias brought, which smells far too much like a mix of his favorite cologne (which smells like shit in her opinion) and the salty tang of the sea (and here she was thinking they were divorced again; apparently not). As Gertrude steps into the living room, Elias jumps to his feet, ignoring the way that Colonel Catnip yowls at him, something that makes the archivist subtly smile; the cat seems to be an excellent judge of character. Brushing the thought aside, she steps carefully closer, holding the child in a rather protective manner against her chest, though she knows she has no choice but to give him to Elias… at least now they’re going to work together on this, right? She hopes so.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It was a rather difficult birth, but he came out healthy enough,” Gertrude explains, cradling the baby with a softness that is rather unbecoming of her, but she knows is appreciated by all involved. “Though, I’m sure it won’t surprise you to find out that he came out a tad… </span>
  <em>
    <span>strange.”</span>
  </em>
  <span> In order to prove this, she folds back part of the cardigan in order to give Elias a better look at the newborn child.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Still partially covered by the cardigan, a tiny baby lies half asleep in Gertrude’s arms, eyes firmly squeezed shut, yet there’s a gentle, bright green glow coming from just underneath his eyelids, like a torch being shone from underneath a bed sheet. Gertrude can’t help but stiffen at the sight; so, he’s going to be a </span>
  <em>
    <span>green </span>
  </em>
  <span>becoming? That’s… </span>
  <em>
    <span>expected,</span>
  </em>
  <span> seen as green becoming avatars are rumored to be the strongest of them all, but that also means he’ll have a much harder time controlling his powers. Other than that, the boy looks fairly normal for a newborn baby, save for being smaller than average, but considering how short his biological mother and father are… the poor kid doesn’t have a chance in that department, unless of course the Eye manages to give him a few inches, but the Eye is much less physical than most entities, so Gertrude won’t put much faith in the idea.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The boy’s been born with a slight frizz of black, fuzzy hair on the top of his head, looking to have a similar texture to his late father’s, while his skin hasn’t quite darkened enough yet, but the archivist knows he’ll darken within the next few hours/days. As she looks over the baby boy, something catches Gertrude’s eye, as she notices a small, lighter patch of skin on the child’s lower back… in the same place her bondmark to Agnes is. Is he </span>
  <em>
    <span>bonded </span>
  </em>
  <span>to someone? Hers has a design- a web, with flames burning it’s edges- but the baby just has lighter skin there, as if he’s waiting for a bondmark to appear there someday. After a few more seconds of just staring at the child, Elias finally comes closer, ready to scoop him out of Gertrude’s arms, but she backs away from him, holding the baby closer for good measure. She watches as the man outright growls at her, eyes flashing yellow, his mouth opening to shout an order, but the archivist cuts him off before he can even get started.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“His mother should get to hold him first, Elias.” Gertrude snaps, doing nothing to hide the anger from her voice. Sure, she was originally planning on taking the baby too, but at least </span>
  <em>
    <span>she’s </span>
  </em>
  <span>willing to give the mother some proper closure.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Elias scowls, unhappy with her response. “You’re holding him right now, aren’t you? A bit too late for her to be first,” He points out, tone accusing. He settles down quickly though, his senses returning to him as he fights off his Beholding-made instincts. He straightens, shaking his head while fussing with his bow-tie in a vain attempt at making himself look less unhinged. It doesn’t really work. “My apologies, Gertrude, I just got a bit… carried away, that’s all. You’re right, of course; best to give them both at least a </span>
  <em>
    <span>few </span>
  </em>
  <span>minutes together.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gertrude all but rolls her eyes, simply shaking her head before she turns around and returns to the guest bedroom. Delores is out cold on the bloodied remnants of the guest bed, having been worn out by the whole experience of giving birth, but luckily for her, Gertrude had the good sense to clean and redress her before inviting Elias back inside, saving her from anymore embarrassment under the Eye’s relentless gaze. At the sound of the door opening back up, Delores stirs, cracking an eye open to look up at the archivist and her son, and to Gertrude’s shock, Delores’s eyes glow a soft, misty purple as her eyelids part, much like her own eyes do when she tries to use her Beholding abilities. That’s… certainly a surprise, but considering the fact that she just birthed what will someday be an archivist, it only makes sense that she’d get something more out of it than just stretchmarks and trauma.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>If she had been trained to be an archivist, would Delores have been like her? Gertrude shakes the thought away, not wanting to be distracted by such foolish ideas and what-ifs. She watches instead as the young widow’s mouth forms a small, fatigued smile, all of her earlier anger and fear washed away, replaced by the contentment one can only feel after completing a truly exhausting task. Despite having just pushed a baby out of herself for the first time in her life, Delores remains a trooper through and through as she tries to sit up, only to wince and give up, opting to just partially prop herself up on the pillows behind her instead. Gertrude, in the meantime, treads closer with the small baby, forcing herself to wear a warm, tired smile for the new mother. She won’t be able to have her son for long, but she doesn’t have to think about that right now, not when she’s about to hold her baby boy.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How are you feeling, dear?” Gertrude starts with a simple question. After all, she’s not about to give Delores the baby if she’s too tired to keep her grip on him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Delores tries to stretch, but it’s a lost cause. “Honestly? I feel bloody </span>
  <em>
    <span>terrible,”</span>
  </em>
  <span> She admits, still wearing that small smile on her delicate face. “How long did it take for him to come out?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Roughly about four hours, which is actually much faster than most births, according to modern records at least,” Gertrude explains, carefully adjusting the baby in her arms so Delores can see him better. “But enough about statistics… would you like to hold him, Delores? He came out healthy as can be, if not a bit small.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Delores lights up at that, a loud, happy sob breaking past her lips, and without delay, Gertrude steps forward, and with all of the carefulness she can manage, she places the baby in the other woman’s waiting arms, helping her position herself just right to keep the little one perfectly supported. Delores grins, holding her baby with such tenderness and joy in her crying eyes, Gertrude would be lying if she said she didn’t feel something inside of her stir at the sight. She doesn’t remember much of her mother, most of her memories formed after years of being told stories of her infancy and toddlerhood, but she knows that her mother was a strange woman to most folk, adoring the craftsmanship that goes into making homemade soap and drawing architecture for castles from her favorite fairy tales.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She was a strange woman, but she was Gertrude’s mother nonetheless, and for the first time in literal </span>
  <em>
    <span>decades,</span>
  </em>
  <span> the archivist finds herself missing that phantom of a woman from her dreams, wanting to hold her close and learn everything she can about her as a person. What was her favorite animal; was it really unicorns like Granddad always said? Did she </span>
  <em>
    <span>actually </span>
  </em>
  <span>like making soap, or was that Father just assuming things about a woman he barely even loved? Did she like to read as much as her daughter does? If so, what kind of books did she read? Gertrude likes to think that maybe, years and years ago, her mother may’ve liked the same sorts of stories as her. Oh dear god, just listen to her, getting worked up about a woman who’s been dead for just over fifty years. Subtly wiping at her eyes, Gertrude convinces herself to try and let it go, though the pain still lingers at the back of her mind.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Beautiful, isn’t he?” Predictably, Elias swoops in and ruins everything, not that Gertrude is all that surprised. Ignoring the fact that both women are glaring daggers at him, the blond strides closer to Delores and her baby, having the gall to kneel by her side in order to get a closer look at the boy. “He’ll make for such a </span>
  <em>
    <span>powerful </span>
  </em>
  <span>avatar… you should be very proud of yourself, my dear. Honestly, I couldn’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>ask </span>
  </em>
  <span>for a better avatar-to-be than him.” He coos at the baby, wiggling one of his index fingers in his face.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Delores bats his hand away, glaring at him with such pure, unadulterated </span>
  <em>
    <span>rage,</span>
  </em>
  <span> Gertrude is suddenly very glad that she had the forethought to keep anymore potential weapons out of the widow’s reach… even if it </span>
  <em>
    <span>is </span>
  </em>
  <span>funny to watch Elias get attacked by a woman damn near a head shorter than him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Elias, knock it off.” Gertrude orders, stepping in before Delores decides that her hands are enough of a weapon to shred Elias a new one.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What? I’m just congratulating her, that’s all,” Elias says, and Gertrude can’t help but think he sounds </span>
  <em>
    <span>exactly </span>
  </em>
  <span>like an insufferable child playing that infernal</span>
  <em>
    <span> ‘I’m not touching you’ </span>
  </em>
  <span>game. “Is it such a crime to praise people for their hard work, Gertrude? Is it?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It is when you’re a damn </span>
  <em>
    <span>creeper,” </span>
  </em>
  <span>Delores snaps, sneering at Elias for his trouble. She tries to lean away from him as much as possible, but being bedridden means she can’t exactly get up and walk away from the situation, leaving her at the mercy of her stalker. “Can you </span>
  <em>
    <span>please </span>
  </em>
  <span>back the hell off? You’re </span>
  <em>
    <span>scaring </span>
  </em>
  <span>him.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I assure you that I’m not,” Elias is quick as a whip, still wearing that sly smile of his that makes Gertrude want to break his jaw. “Look, he’s even opening his eyes for me! Hello, little one.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Both Delores and Gertrude’s eyes immediately fixate on the baby’s cherubic face, and to their amazement, his eyes indeed slowly start to open, the boy squinting in a mixture of irritation and fatigue. His eyes, as expected, are a bright, brilliant green, literally </span>
  <em>
    <span>glowing </span>
  </em>
  <span>with the power behind them, but as they adjust to the room, they fade to a dark, chocolate brown color, matching his dear mother’s eyes. The boy yawns, apparently exhausted by the mere act of opening his eyes, though he keeps them open a little longer, interested in looking around before he goes back to sleep. His eyes flicker first to Elias, who he shares a staring contest with for a few seconds, then they pass over to Gertrude, who also refuses to blink at him, though she doesn’t know why. He just… he looks like he’s staring straight through her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Thoroughly unimpressed with the two people in the room that serve the Beholding, the baby turns his head slightly- can newborns </span>
  <em>
    <span>do </span>
  </em>
  <span>that? Gertrude wonders if being born an avatar is going to make him develop even faster than she thought he would- and he </span>
  <em>
    <span>Stares </span>
  </em>
  <span>at his mother, his eyes glinting green again. Delores’s eyes, in turn, glow that soft purple from before, her smile small but sincere as she gazes at her little boy. Gertrude and Elias watch from the sidelines, their shared confusion making the air tense and uncomfortable. Are Delores and her baby communicating </span>
  <em>
    <span>telepathically?</span>
  </em>
  <span> Some Beholding avatars have been known to do that, but certainly not at such a young age! Looking closer though, Gertrude soon realizes they aren’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>really </span>
  </em>
  <span>communicating, just… </span>
  <em>
    <span>Watching </span>
  </em>
  <span>each other. So early into their relationship, and already they look inseparable. That’s going to make this </span>
  <em>
    <span>much </span>
  </em>
  <span>harder.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What are you thinking about, little one?” Delores asks herself, pausing the staring contest to kiss her baby’s forehead. He huffs at this, squirming slightly as he closes his eyes, and within seconds he starts to doze off again, too exhausted to stay away any longer. At this, his mother laughs. “Such a tired little thing, aren’t you? Not even an hour old and you want to sleep for another nine months.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Childbirth is never easy for anyone involved,” Elias says, as if he wasn’t the one cowering in the living room to keep from having to see it, though Gertrude has a feeling that the Eye made him behold the whole thing; she hopes it gives him nightmares. He slowly stands up, laying a gentle hand on Delores’s shoulder, the woman too exhausted to shrug him off. “So… what do you plan on naming him? I understand that Gertrude has promised that you could, is that correct? Of course, if you don’t want to, I have plenty of names prepared! May I suggest </span>
  <em>
    <span>Barnabas?”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Delores chuckles at the name. </span>
  <em>
    <span>“Barnabas?</span>
  </em>
  <span> Are you </span>
  <em>
    <span>daft?</span>
  </em>
  <span> I’m not about to let my son be teased for having such a </span>
  <em>
    <span>ridiculous </span>
  </em>
  <span>name,” She mutters, not catching the genuinely offended glare this comment earns her from Elias. “No, I think he would do fine with something a little more… </span>
  <em>
    <span>simple. </span>
  </em>
  <span>Really, I don’t know why I even thought of any other names; he’s clearly a Jonathan.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Jonathan?” Elias repeats the name, letting it roll off his tongue. He then smiles, satisfied with how it sounds. “Yes, Jonathan is rather…</span>
  <em>
    <span> fitting, </span>
  </em>
  <span>isn’t it? Very simple, but oh so powerful.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s a wonderful name, Delores,” Gertrude agrees, her arms folding behind her back as she watches this scene play out, and were Elias not here, she would probably find this all pleasantly domestic. “He’ll make for a fine young man someday.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes, he most certainly will. May I?” Elias prods at Delores’s arms, holding out his own for the baby. Without thinking, Delores hands Jonathan over, too caught up in the euphoria of having her baby to remember what a monster the man at her side is. “Very good, thank you. You’ve been a </span>
  <em>
    <span>wonderful </span>
  </em>
  <span>host, Mrs. Sims, and I sincerely thank you for all your help, and the sacrifices you and your husband have made, but I can’t afford for young Jonathan here to ever come looking for you, lest it distract from his training. So… goodbye, Delores.” And without blinking, he cradles Jonathan with one arm, pulls out his pistol with the other, and shoots Delores in the head.</span>
</p><hr/><p>
  <span>The air is freezing outside, making it all that much harder to exist in this moment, in this place. Both Elias and Gertrude have been forced to sit on the front porch of the house, the former cradling a very upset and sobbing Jonathan in his arms, the latter holding her cane as if her life depends on it, because it very well might if her boss can’t talk them out of this one. Colonel Catnip is curled up dutifully by her side the whole time, sitting firmly between her and Elias, as if struggling to decide who he needs to protect; Gertrude or the baby. All the while, he doesn’t so much as purr, simply sitting there in silence, something the archivist is unused to from a cat she’s only ever known as an attention whore. Inside the house, a number of sectioned police officers are combing through the Sims household, boxing up evidence that they know will never again see the daylight, but their job isn’t really about </span>
  <em>
    <span>justice,</span>
  </em>
  <span> now is it? No, it’s all about hiding things, and thankfully for them, they’re very good at it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As the rain continues to fall, Gertrude grimaces, soaked to the bone but unwilling to move, and that’s not just because the cops told her to stay put. Beside her, Elias is trying and failing to calm down the baby, who has up to this point refused to stop screaming his lungs out. At least his eyes stopped glowing an hour in, but that didn’t keep his shrill, supernaturally influenced voice from breaking every glass object within a mile radius. The nearest police officer glances the trio’s way, looking somewhere between concerned and irritated, but Gertrude just glares at him, effectively scaring the man into submission. She knows she isn’t that intimidating, but most sectioned officers know better than to tangle with someone from the Magnus Institute by now. Slowly, the old woman sighs, stretching out her back just to hear the bones under her skin crack and pop, desperate for some respite or comfort.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Please</span>
  </em>
  <span> Jonathan, you can’t keep this up forever!” Elias dissolved to pleading thirty minutes ago, and it sounds like he’s about to start crying next. If he were anyone else, Gertrude would feel bad for him. “Give it a rest, little one, or you’re going to hurt yourself.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He may be born of the Eye but he’s still a </span>
  <em>
    <span>baby, </span>
  </em>
  <span>Elias; I doubt reason will get you anywhere with him.” Gertrude grumbles, rubbing at her temples to keep herself from giving into her impulse to punch Elias as hard as she can in the throat.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“If you’re such an expert, </span>
  <em>
    <span>you </span>
  </em>
  <span>calm him down!” Elias snaps, turning to hold Jonathan out to the woman, who doesn’t even try to hide her discomfort as she leans away from him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gertrude mutters something rather unkind under her breath, but she nonetheless takes the screaming child from Elias. To her dismay, Jonathan doesn’t calm down immediately like she would’ve hoped, so the problem might not </span>
  <em>
    <span>entirely </span>
  </em>
  <span>be Elias’s presence… not that that’s going to make her stop blaming him anytime soon. She cradles the baby just as Delores did earlier, finding the position uncomfortably foreign, and somewhat hesitantly, she rocks him back and forth with all the gentleness she can manage, mostly just to give her arms something to do. At this, Jonathan actually begins to quiet down, though he still cries rather pitifully, beginning to sound more akin to a dying instrument rather than a fire alarm.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Biting the inside of her cheek to keep from saying something that might break the peace, Gertrude switches positions, now holding one hand under Jonathan’s bottom, the other across his back, rocking him forward and back in a similar rhythm to before. Elias stays silent the whole time, just Staring at his head archivist, only snapping out of it when he accidentally loosens his grip on the umbrella, prompting the rain to hit him in a sudden, wet torrent. He sputters like a tomcat, just managing not to hit Gertrude and the baby with his umbrella as he readjusts, though his clothing can’t be saved in the aftermath, leaving him soaked for a second- maybe third, if you count him getting a bit damp on the way over here or his shower this morning- time today. Gertrude simply rolls her eyes, earning a scoff from her boss.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“At least he’s finally calmed down,” Elias grumbles, scowling at the wet cement with a vengeance. He abruptly looks up, locking eyes with a nearby cop, his own eyes shining like topaz as he offers the man a smirk. “Excuse me, you there, officer! Would you please </span>
  <em>
    <span>tell me </span>
  </em>
  <span>when my employee and I will be allowed to leave?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The officer tries to blink, tries to look away, but it’s useless now that Elias has him caught by the eyes. He stutters, horrified by the spell that’s been put upon him. “I d-don’t know!” The cop admits, jittery and scared beyond belief. “P-Please, you’ve g-gotta believe me, I don’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>know!”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Elias squints, unhappy with the answer. “Are you </span>
  <em>
    <span>sure </span>
  </em>
  <span>about that? Let’s try a little </span>
  <em>
    <span>harder,</span>
  </em>
  <span> shall w- </span>
  <em>
    <span>OW!”</span>
  </em>
  <span> He jolts, grabbing his head with both hands and yelping as he’s hit by an unseen force.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gertrude glances behind her, having to turn her torso to see what hit Elias. From inside the house strides a tall, put-together woman in a police uniform. She wears a scowl on her face, which is thankfully only being directed at Elias right now. “Mr. Bouchard, I ask that you please </span>
  <em>
    <span>not </span>
  </em>
  <span>assault my officers, whether that be physically or mentally. If you want answers, then you have to wait like everyone else. Or do I need to do that </span>
  <em>
    <span>again?”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Elias remains irritated, rubbing at the sides of his head with a look of frustration on his face. Whatever the cop did, it’s given him a killer headache. “Th-That won’t be necessary, Commissioner,” He assures without even looking up at her. Eventually though he does lift his head, giving the cop a bright smile which he must think makes him look </span>
  <em>
    <span>very </span>
  </em>
  <span>charming. It doesn’t. “Though, I </span>
  <em>
    <span>am </span>
  </em>
  <span>curious… how is the investigation going so far? Any interesting finds?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dear god, he just doesn’t know when to shut up, does he? “Thanks to you, this is going to be </span>
  <em>
    <span>hell </span>
  </em>
  <span>to clean up. You realize this is a good neighborhood, right? More than half the neighbors called this one in!” The commissioner snaps, coming off as more irritated with the situation than angry with Elias for literally </span>
  <em>
    <span>murdering </span>
  </em>
  <span>someone. She must be a senior among the sectioned officers. “I swear, your people are gonna owe us</span>
  <em>
    <span> big time</span>
  </em>
  <span> for this.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes yes, I’ll be certain to make it up to you someday,” Elias says, waving off the commissioner’s complaints as if they’re nothing. “So when can we leave? If you haven’t noticed, we have a newborn child that needs to be checked by a pediatrician as soon as possible.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The commissioner glances at Jonathan, who in turn </span>
  <em>
    <span>Stares </span>
  </em>
  <span>at her, eyes unblinking and listless. “…Creepy lil’ </span>
  <em>
    <span>bastard,” </span>
  </em>
  <span>She mutters after a few seconds, thoroughly disgusted by the strange child in front of her. She shakes her head, giving Elias another glare for his trouble. </span>
  <em>
    <span>“I’ll </span>
  </em>
  <span>tell you when you can go, Bouchard. Just shut your mouth and keep that </span>
  <em>
    <span>demon </span>
  </em>
  <span>of yours in line, got it? I don’t want anymore trouble from you.” She stomps off quickly, not wanting to be around Jonathan anymore than necessary.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The minute she’s gone, Jonathan takes to wailing all over again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gertrude groans outright. </span>
  <em>
    <span>“Wonderful</span>
  </em>
  <span> friend you’ve got there,” She mutters, even throwing in a glare for good measure, though she aims it at the commissioner’s back and not at Elias. “A real</span>
  <em>
    <span> peach,</span>
  </em>
  <span> isn’t she?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Elias rolls his eyes, but nods begrudgingly in agreement. “You can’t deny that she’s well-suited to her job,” He says, sparing the baby an almost pitying look. “It’s alright, Jonathan. She isn’t going to hurt you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But Jonathan just keeps on going, screaming his head off in hopes that </span>
  <em>
    <span>someone </span>
  </em>
  <span>will listen. Everyone definitely does, but only two people here are willing to do something about it that won’t hurt him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hush, little one, </span>
  <em>
    <span>hush,”</span>
  </em>
  <span> Gertrude whispers, rocking the baby again. When this doesn’t work, she glances nervously at Elias, wondering if she should try something else first, but… well, the baby likes to listen, right? Maybe Jonathan just needs something to focus on in order to calm back down. “Down in the valley, valley so low. Hang your head over, hear the wind blow. Hear the wind blow, dear, hear the wind blow. Hang your head over, hear the wind blow,” She pauses the lullabye to breathe, eyes closed so she doesn’t have to know if anyone is watching her, save for the Eye and it’s patrons, of course. “Roses love sunshine, violets love dew. Angels in heaven, know I love you. Know I love you, dear, know I love you. Angels in heaven, know I love you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>By the time Gertrude finishes, Jonathan is out cold, fast asleep in her arms and perfectly content, which is honestly a huge relief, since she really, </span>
  <em>
    <span>really </span>
  </em>
  <span>hates singing, at least in front of an audience.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hm… you have a nice singing voice, Gertrude,” Elias comments, eyes half-lidded and full of an emotion Gertrude doesn’t want to identify, for fear that it might make her go through with punching him after all. “Though I must admit, I never took you for the type.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m </span>
  <em>
    <span>not,”</span>
  </em>
  <span> Gertrude says, hating how defensive that makes her sound. She swallows, then corrects herself. “It’s just a song my mother used to sing when I was a small child. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Surely </span>
  </em>
  <span>you’re familiar with lullabies.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I am, I just… never imagined </span>
  <em>
    <span>you </span>
  </em>
  <span>singing one. It doesn’t seem to suit someone as bloodthirsty and destructive as you.” Elias admits, eyes still transfixed on his archivist.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gertrude resists the urge to bite his head off for that little comment, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of effectively pissing her off. “Yes well, now that I’m going to be raising a child, I suppose I’ll need to move past certain… </span>
  <em>
    <span>reservations.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“We’re</span>
  </em>
  <span> going to be raising a child, Gertrude. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Together,”</span>
  </em>
  <span> Elias corrects her mistake without so much as missing a beat. “Whether you like it or not, we’re in this together now… unless, of course, you’d like me to shoot you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I swear, if you have </span>
  <em>
    <span>another </span>
  </em>
  <span>fucking gun, Bouchard-” The commissioner rounds on Elias so fast, she resembles a blur more than a person.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Elias holds up his hands in mock surrender, an easygoing smile on his face, but Gertrude can sense the fear radiating off of him in waves. “-I’m unarmed, Commissioner. Nothing but a simple jest among friends.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The commissioner glares a moment longer, before fitfully returning to work. The minute she looks away, Gertrude scowls at Elias. “Stop instigating her,” She orders, tone harsh and unforgiving. “I’m not about to spend the night in a jail cell because you can’t keep your bloody mouth shut.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Elias shrugs, trying to play it off. “My point still stands, Gertrude,” He says, cool as a cucumber. “So I suggest you drop the attitude and learn to get along with me, or the next eighteen years are going to be </span>
  <em>
    <span>very </span>
  </em>
  <span>unpleasant.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gertrude doesn’t respond at first. She adjusts Jonathan in her arms, cradling him so she can better look at his face. Despite being incredibly loud when he’s even a little upset, he looks strangely… </span>
  <em>
    <span>peaceful,</span>
  </em>
  <span> like an undisturbed lion napping in the daylight. “…How are we going to do this, Elias?” After a few long, agonizingly slow minutes, the words just sort of slip out of Gertrude’s mouth, the woman hardly even registering it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Elias raises an eyebrow, confused. “As in, how are we going to divide custody, or…?” He trails off, waiting for his archivist to finish.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gertrude sigh, shaking her head in exasperation that is in no way fond, just tired and resigned to her fate. “No, Elias… I mean, how are we going to take care of this </span>
  <em>
    <span>baby? </span>
  </em>
  <span>Do you have </span>
  <em>
    <span>any </span>
  </em>
  <span>idea what you’ve done? You’ve brought a small, helpless child into this world, and you’ve forced a power far beyond his years into his tiny body. Do you honestly think this won’t backfire?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Agnes has managed just fine.” Elias says, not the least bit phased by her concerns.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gertrude laughs, dry and humorless. “You think </span>
  <em>
    <span>anything </span>
  </em>
  <span>regarding Agnes has been even </span>
  <em>
    <span>close </span>
  </em>
  <span>to fine? She’s in more pain than you can </span>
  <em>
    <span>possibly </span>
  </em>
  <span>imagine, and she will be for the rest of her long, horrible life,” She can’t help but tense up a bit, the mark on her lower back aching with the memory of her bondmate’s pain. It always hurts, always </span>
  <em>
    <span>burns, </span>
  </em>
  <span>but usually she can block it out. “Just because Jonathan isn’t an avatar of the Desolation doesn’t mean he’ll have anywhere </span>
  <em>
    <span>close </span>
  </em>
  <span>to an easier time… he’s still connected to a Fear, and that alone will make his existence a wretched one.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Elias stays quiet for a few seconds, eyes glazed over as he stares at Jonathan, who remains blissfully asleep and unaware of just what awaits him outside of his dreams. “…Maybe you’re right,” He says, but there’s no surrender in his voice, just stone cold determination that Gertrude believes is unfounded, but not exactly unexpected. “But this is a necessary sacrifice, Gertrude. You know that you’re a </span>
  <em>
    <span>terrible </span>
  </em>
  <span>archivist, and I can’t take anymore chances on waiting for the perfect one to simply walk through the doors and ask for a job. If I raise an archivist from </span>
  <em>
    <span>birth,</span>
  </em>
  <span> set their destiny out for them before they can think for themselves… is it really such a bad thing? I’m going to give more meaning to his life than any child before him has ever known.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s a cursed existence,” Gertrude repeats, not because she’s running out of ammo, but because Elias </span>
  <em>
    <span>needs </span>
  </em>
  <span>to understand this. She knows he won’t, but she can’t rest knowing she didn’t at least warn him. “All he’ll know is pain and suffering.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He’ll know so much more than</span>
  <em>
    <span> that, </span>
  </em>
  <span>my dear Gertrude,” Elias promises, and with a casualness that has not been earned, he swings an arm across the archivist’s shoulders, pulling her into a side hug. It is uncomfortable and needlessly aggressive, just like every conversation the two of them try to have. “You may not understand why just yet, but this really </span>
  <em>
    <span>is </span>
  </em>
  <span>for the best. Because of his father, he was already going to be born with the mark of the Eye, so who am I to waste such potential? This is the start of something truly </span>
  <em>
    <span>wonderful, </span>
  </em>
  <span>Gertrude. Someday, I hope you’ll understand that, and come to appreciate what I’ve done… for </span>
  <em>
    <span>all </span>
  </em>
  <span>of us.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A tense silence follows, and during that time, Gertrude and Elias are guided to stand beside one of the cop cars- Elias is forced to carry Colonel Catnip, who bites and scratches at him with a vengeance, but eventually he calms down- as the police need the porch cleared. As soon as they’re all out of the way, several police officers pull out a stretcher, upon which is Delores Sims, though her body has been covered by a large, white sheet. The cloth is stained with bright red blood, which quickly grows darker under the onslaught of rain. In Gertrude’s arms, Jonathan awakes, blinking his eyes open to look around, whimpering for something unnamed. His eyes eventually land on the stretcher, inspiring them to widen and glow, and with a </span>
  <em>
    <span>shriek,</span>
  </em>
  <span> Jonathan begins to scream with every </span>
  <em>
    <span>fiber </span>
  </em>
  <span>of his tiny being, flailing his arms in a pointless attempt to grab his mother and wake her from her endless sleep.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Everyone but Elias, Gertrude, and the cat flinches at the terrible sound, bending over and covering their ears as the infant </span>
  <em>
    <span>wails, </span>
  </em>
  <span>shrill and unrelenting, begging for the embrace of a mother that shall never wake up, shall never open her eyes and hold him close ever again. Thankfully the officers don’t lose their grip on the stretcher, and putting two and two together, they make a point of hurrying along and getting the body into the ambulance as fast as they can. This only makes Jonathan cry harder. Without a word, Gertrude holds the little one closer, her grip surprisingly protective as the heavens above her seem to open and scream alongside the orphan, wanting justice for such a senseless, awful death. The archivist doesn’t even blink, just hugs the baby to her chest, her face growing wet from the rain, but just for a few minutes, she’ll lie and let herself believe she’s gained the strength to cry.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Life is going to be anything but fair for Jonathan, but Gertrude intends on making it as painless as possible.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Oof and also ouch, this broke my heart to write, but I suppose I played myself for getting attached to Delores. Still, it’s better than making her a blank slate and killing her off for shock value. In any case, I hope you guys liked this chapter, and if you did, feel free to scream at me in the comments! I dunno when the next chapter will be out, but hopefully it’ll be soon. Have an amazing day, y’all!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Unblinking Stare</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>This took several drafts and rewrites because I couldn’t decide between timeskipping to Jon being a bit older or not, but fuck that, I want to continue (more or less) where we left off. Besides, y’all will get plenty of Jon when he’s a bit older later down the line! So yeah, sorry for the long wait, but I wasn’t about to post something I wasn’t happy with, and this is the result. I hope you guys will enjoy the ending of this particular fic for the AU!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>The drive after is awkward for both of them, of that Gertrude has little doubt. She’s again left carrying the baby, but at least Elias is making himself useful by driving, something she’s not exactly thrilled about him doing, but she’s not about to call a cab in these conditions. They had an argument earlier about what to do with the cat, Elias claiming that Colonel Catnip is feral while Gertrude assured him that he’s no such thing, and the archivist is proud to say she won that particular argument, as now the fat tomcat is sleeping restlessly in the backseat of her boss’s far too extravagant car. Although she’d be hard pressed to actually think that the Colonel is sentient, Gertrude can tell that he’s upset about Delores’s death, as he very well should be, and as a result he’s lashed out at her and Elias almost non-stop (though to her thankfulness, Elias is getting the brunt of it). She hopes his acting out won’t last, if only so her boss won’t have anymore reasons to send him to the pound.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Speaking of that worthless bastard, Elias has been rather quiet since their argument earlier, a silence the archivist is very tempted to relish in, but she has a distinct feeling that it’s not a good thing that he’s keeping to himself right now, especially after all that’s happened. Every so often he glances her way, though not at Gertrude herself, but the baby boy in her lap, his gaze full of both anxiety and restlessness. Although the woman won the cat argument, she didn’t win the other one, which means that instead of heading straight back to the archives like she suggested, she and her accomplice are going to his house for the night. In all honesty, Gertrude would’ve preferred staying at her own place, or even a bloody hotel, but neither she nor Elias are willing to have Jonathan out of their sights, leading to a rather uncomfortable truce until they can figure this all out. The archivist almost wants to sigh at the reminder, as she doubts that’s going to be a pleasant conversation.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re awful quiet,” Gertrude takes it upon herself to break the silence, no longer able to take any sort of comfort from it. If she’s left to her own devices for much longer, she’s half scared she’ll start dwelling on things she shouldn’t. “Something on your mind, Elias?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“A million things are on my mind, Gertrude,” Elias says, though it’s said not as an admission of any kind, but rather a fact of life, like Gertrude’s an idiot for thinking otherwise. That’s probably </span>
  <em>
    <span>exactly </span>
  </em>
  <span>what he thinks of her, considering the fact that a sexist Victorian is in control of his weaselly little body. “But if you </span>
  <em>
    <span>must </span>
  </em>
  <span>know, I’m rather concerned for Jonathan’s health and well-being. He feels…</span>
  <em>
    <span> off,</span>
  </em>
  <span> in a way. His energy is all wrong.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gertrude glances down at the baby in her lap, watching as Jonathan quietly sleeps, only breaking from his slumber to squirm and whimper every couple of minutes. She grimaces, as when she tries to really Look at him, she can see that there are an uncountable number of glowing green eyes hovering all around him, looking this way and that at a feverish pace, as if they’re trying to absorb everything all at once. It must be exhausting the poor boy.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He can’t stop Watching,” Gertrude says, not even trying to hide the worry from her voice. At the reminder, Jon lets out another sob, squirming in place to try and make the pain stop. “There there, sweetie,” She whispers, resting Jon chest-first against her shoulder, all while bouncing him and patting his tiny back. “Shh, it’s okay… it’s okay, dear. Just breathe.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s not going to work,” Elias mutters, rolling his eyes at Gertrude’s attempts to calm the baby down. “Just let him Watch. Besides, he needs the experience.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He’s not even a day old, he needs his rest!” Gertrude snaps, glaring at Elias from out of the corner of her eyes. “Have you truly never been around an infant before? They can hardly manage staying alive, much less harboring the powers of a Fear inside of them.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Elias scoffs. “He’ll be </span>
  <em>
    <span>fine,” </span>
  </em>
  <span>He insists, sparing Jon a minute glance. “Do you hear and understand me, Jonathan? Stop your whining, there’s no point in it; just Watch and you’ll grow accustomed to it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As a unit, all of the eyes surrounding Jon squint to glare directly at Elias, the lot of them beginning to glow slightly. Gertrude stifles a smirk. “I don’t think he liked that, Elias…” She says, it being the only warning Elias gets.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>With the blink of a thousand eyes, there’s a flash, and then Elias is screaming his head off, swerving the car violently to the side. “Elias!” Gertrude shouts, freeing a hand to grab the wheel and try to right it, as Elias is in no condition to do so.</span>
</p><p><span>The founder of the institute manages to hit the brakes, prompting Gertrude to kill the engine and snatch the keys from the ignition. In the meantime, Elias curls in on himself, frothing at the mouth and sobbing as he’s overcome by</span> <span>something truly horrific, yet he shows no signs of physical injury. It’s most certainly Jon’s doing, as the baby’s eyes are glued to the man who killed his mother, not even a smile on his cherubic face, just an unnatural calmness that makes the woman holding him shiver. Although she’s half scared it could draw the attack onto herself, Gertrude blinks her eyes and Looks at Elias, grimacing at what she sees. Elias’s watcher’s eye is covered in cracks, the yellow tinted visionary twitching like a rabid dog as it tries not to completely shatter from overstimulation. If Gertrude had to guess, she’d be inclined to think that Jon gave Elias a taste of what he’s going through.</span></p><p>
  <span>When Elias doesn’t come any closer to recovering, much less quieting down, Gertrude decides that Jon being so close to him isn’t helping, so without a word, she climbs out of the car, bringing her employer’s umbrella with her. She holds the door open for a few seconds, expecting the Colonel to follow after her, but the tabby simply blinks at her, refusing to budge. With a shrug, Gertrude leaves him be, knowing from experience that there’s no use arguing with a stubborn cat. It’s still raining outside, which is exactly why she brought the umbrella, something she’s glad she remembered to take with her. The archivist struggles a bit to get it open, on account of needing to support Jon as carefully as she can, but she manages well enough, and once she’s got it open, she goes back to cradling the newborn with both arms, letting her shoulder support most of the umbrella’s weight.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Safe from the dreadful rain for the time being, Gertrude takes several strides away from the car, reasoning to herself that if she gets the baby away from Elias, it might convince him to lay off and let the Victorian live… though, if Jon ends up killing the bastard, she can’t say she’d be too sad about it. The minute she’s at least ten feet away from the car, a loud, earth shattering scream cuts through the air, causing Gertrude to jump and nearly lose her hold on both the umbrella and baby. Jon, in the meantime, cries out once, shrill and unhappy, but thankfully he doesn’t take to crying or anything of the sort. Gertrude turns around in one swift motion, wanting to see if it was Elias that made that awful sound, and indeed it was, as he lets out a few more frightful screams to accompany it, the sound shaking the very foundations of London.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Although they’re parked on a rather unoccupied and small street of the city, a number of citizens open their windows and stop their late night walks to stare at the fancy car making such a racket. Thankfully no one really looks at Gertrude, assuming she’s uninvolved in whatever the hell is going on in that car. The archivist herself can’t tell </span>
  <em>
    <span>exactly </span>
  </em>
  <span>what Elias is doing in there, but she has a good feeling it’s something close to a manic breakdown. In all honesty, the thought makes her feel damn near sorry for Elias, as she’s seen just how terrible such breakdowns can be, especially for Michael and Gerard; no one really deserves to go through them, not even a piece of human shit like Elias. Nonetheless, she knows there’s nothing she can do to help him, so very gently, Gertrude sits on the curb and decides to wait this out.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>After about ten minutes of some of the most horrifying screams the archivist has ever heard, Elias stops mid-shout, so abrupt it makes everyone in the area shiver with dread. There’s a pause, and Gertrude’s tempted to think that the man somehow shouted himself to death, but that’s clearly not the case, as after a few more seconds her boss opens the door on his side of the car and steps out, looking completely fine at a glance. Well, </span>
  <em>
    <span>mostly </span>
  </em>
  <span>fine; his tie is in complete disarray, untied and dangerously close to slipping off his shoulder, and his hair has become significantly messier, but he still looks much the same as he did before. Oh, and he’s breathing heavier now, but Gertrude’s certain she would be too if she just lost her bloody mind because an infant didn’t hesitate before lashing out at her. The few passersby that are still watching quickly make themselves scarce, not wanting to see if Elias will become violent anytime soon.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>At first, the smarmy businessman just watches his employee with unblinking eyes, panting like a dehydrated dog, and all at once the archivist feels her whole body shiver again, this time more violently; she’s starting to wish she hadn’t given her cardigan to Jon. “Apologies for that, Gertrude,” Elias says, voice painfully calm, though Gertrude can hear that edge of hoarseness and unease in his throat. “I just needed a moment to myself, that’s all. Best be on our way now.” He circles the car, opening the woman’s door for her and holding it in place, his silent stare enough of an order to get his point across.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gertrude is tempted to ask him if he needs a few more minutes, or some aspirin to help with the pain, seeing as she always carries some with her in her purse. Instead she closes the umbrella, shakes it off, and crawls back into the car. Offhandedly, she notices that the Colonel is wide awake in the backseat, and where she expects to see fear in his eyes, she sees them glued to the back of Elias’s chair, his eyes glinting with something that might be concern.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As Elias clambers back into the car, he lets out a long, bone-weary sigh, but again, he refuses to say much on the matter, much less look his archivist in the eye and risk looking anymore like a mess. And just like that, it’s quiet in the car again, and for a brief moment, Gertrude wants to pretend that the last half hour didn’t happen, but she knows it did, and it cannot be forgotten so easily. Not for the first time, she wishes she was ignorant to the world’s inner-workings and secrets, if only so she wouldn’t find herself in such awkward situations as this one. The Colonel crawls out of the backseat after about five minutes of driving, and wordlessly, he settles down next to Jonathan in Gertrude’s lap, quick to take up grooming the small amount of hair on the baby’s head. Jon huffs at this, but doesn’t protest anymore than that. In fact, he smiles after a few licks, giggling under the cat’s careful ministrations.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gertrude smiles at the sight, glad to see the cat taking care of Jon, as it reminds her of how her old cat used to act when she’d come home after a hard day at work. Her smiles widens even more though when she notices that the baby’s many glowing eyes begin to droop, soothed by the Colonel’s distracting licks. Does he realize that what he’s doing is genuinely helping Jon calm down? Perhaps. Gertrude wouldn’t put it past the tabby; in her experience, cats are far more in-tune than humans give them credit for. Out of the corner of her eye, as she keeps most of her attention on the Colonel and Jon, Gertrude notices Elias looking at the unlikely duo every so often, though he’s careful not to stare for too long, for risk of crashing the car. She half expects to find him glaring or angry, but instead he seems almost skittish, like a boy freshly burnt by the stove, afraid to get anywhere near it when his wounds are still so fresh.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Is the cat… will that </span>
  <em>
    <span>hurt </span>
  </em>
  <span>him?” Elias asks, voice so quiet that Gertrude almost doesn’t hear him. When this doesn’t get an answer, the man worries at his lip. “I mean, the </span>
  <em>
    <span>licking… </span>
  </em>
  <span>cats tongues are rather sharp, aren’t they? Won’t that hurt him?” He sounds so genuinely worried, it occurs to the archivist that Jon really </span>
  <em>
    <span>did </span>
  </em>
  <span>give Elias a glimpse of the hell he’s trapped in, and even if he isn’t typically all that empathetic, it would make Elias look like a real monster not to feel bad for Jon, now that he finally understands his agony.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Although she knows most of Elias’s concern is fueled by empathy, Gertrude still finds herself a bit curious of something else. “Have you never had a cat before?” She can’t help but ask, curious of her boss’s response. As aggravating as he is, part of her wouldn’t be surprised to hear that he likes cats, as he certainly acts like an entitled one sometimes, but she has a feeling he isn’t as experienced with them as he looks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“A few, here and there… it’s been awhile,” Elias admits, again giving Jon the most anxious of glances, like he expects to be bitten at any moment. It really does only take one bad experience to scare someone out of their mind. “I just… I </span>
  <em>
    <span>worry.</span>
  </em>
  <span> Jonathan, he… well, the Eye thought I was treating him unfairly, and had me experience how he is feeling. It was more than I expected. I don’t… I don’t want him to hurt anymore than he already does.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Some small, much more kind version of Gertrude that she believes might die after losing Delores thinks she should offer Elias comfort, assure him that everything will be okay, but she knows it’s not her place to do so. Besides, as terrible as it must’ve felt, she can’t say that Elias didn’t deserve at least a bit of the suffering the Eye put him through, especially if it means he’s going to be better about caring for Jonathan now. “The cat won’t hurt him, Elias… if anything, he’s easing the pain, helping Jon get some much needed rest. Best to just let the Colonel do his part in caring for the baby.” Even so, Gertrude eases Elias’s mind as much as she’s willing to, if only so he won’t cause a fuss over nothing.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Elias simply nods, his unease practically audible, but he doesn’t say anything more, choosing instead to divert all of his attention to the road in front of him. His hands are shaking where they grip the wheel, ironclad and white-knuckled. Gertrude leaves him be, preferring to lean back and cradle the cat and baby, struggling not to fall asleep. In the end, she at least gets twenty or so minutes of rest, the only sounds she hears being rain pelting the car, the Colonel’s incessant purr, and the windshield wipers swaying to their own, messy rhythm.</span>
</p><hr/><p>
  <span>Elias Bouchard’s- or rather, </span>
  <em>
    <span>Jonah Magnus’s-</span>
  </em>
  <span> house is about as over the top as Gertrude expected it to be. It’s a three story micro mansion that has a tall iron fence standing all around it, which requires a rather old fashioned looking key to get past. It takes Elias a few tries to get the front gates unlocked, during which his archivist wonders why he hasn’t bothered to upgrade his security, but then again, she’s dealing with a man from the seventeenth or so century here. Once the gate is finally open, Elias climbs back into the car and drives into what seems like his usual parking spot, where Gertrude sees a few other nice looking cars just waiting to be taken out for a drive. Posh bastard, he doesn’t even </span>
  <em>
    <span>need </span>
  </em>
  <span>half of these. Struggling not to make a snide comment, she makes to try and carry both Jonathan and the Colonel inside, but Elias sees his opening and takes it, reaching over and plucking Jon right out of her arms. Gertrude glares daggers at him in response, unimpressed with the smirk she receives in return.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Something the matter, Gertrude?” Elias asks, his delight more than a little grating. At least he’s not scared of the baby anymore, but really, he might just be afraid of the Fear he serves, and not the child it’s trying to inhabit. Either way, he’s stopped shaking by now and gone back to being his usual bastard self. “Can’t have you hogging him, now can I?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gertrude rolls her eyes. “As if you haven’t been watching him since he was conceived. If anything, he deserves a break from you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Elias let’s out a mock gasp, freeing a hand to clutch at his chest. “Why Gertrude, I’m </span>
  <em>
    <span>hurt!”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wounded even?” Gertrude bites back a smirk, not wanting to find any amusement in her awful boss’s antics.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Quite possibly,” Elias says, leaving it be as he climbs out of the car again, his grasp on Jon surprisingly gentle and protective as he gets out. He locks the car up once Gertrude has her things, the man offering his employee another snide smile. “Now then, it’s dreadfully late, and it’s about time we get ourselves and the little one to bed, yes? But first, dinner.” He leads the way to the front doors of the mansion, unlocking it with a skip in his step. His stress from before has all but banished, and although Gertrude isn’t keen on getting mocked for the next few hours, at least it means there shouldn’t be anymore trouble tonight.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“SURPRISE!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And there goes any chance at a quiet evening.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Both Gertrude and Elias jump in surprise, the beings they’re carrying crying out in terror at the sudden noise. The lights flash on inside the manor, revealing the identities of the three idiots who dared to trespass on Jonah Magnus’s property. Standing in the doorway is Simon Fairchild, the one who opened the door once it was unlocked; he wears a shit-eating grin on his wrinkled face, all while he balances his young son up on his shoulders, the little one looking just as frightened as them. Peter Lukas is sitting quietly on a nearby staircase, his baby fast asleep in his arms; he shoots Elias a tiny little smirk once they meet each other's eyes. Finally, there’s Maxwell Rayner, the oldest of the men holding up a poorly made papermache sign that reads </span>
  <em>
    <span>“Congratulations on the Murder and Subsequent Illegal Adoption!”</span>
  </em>
  <span> Needless to say, it’s not the scene Gertrude was expecting, but she’d be lying if she didn’t admit that seeing Elias just as surprised as her didn’t make her feel more at ease about the whole thing.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What the bloody </span>
  <em>
    <span>hell </span>
  </em>
  <span>is going on here!?” Elias bellows, his eyes shifting to a ghastly pale yellow as they trail over his home’s trespassers, his arms coming to cradle Jon against his chest, practically </span>
  <em>
    <span>daring </span>
  </em>
  <span>the intruders to try anything.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Surprise!” Simon shouts again, which is accompanied by Mike blowing his party horn as loud as he can, which is to say, he’s not nearly as loud as his father. “I heard the eye baby finally popped out, so I thought I’d throw you a lil’ party to celebrate! Aren’t I the best mate ever?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Elias immediately turns his gaze to Peter, eyes narrowing as he let’s out a low growl. “You told him, didn’t you? I told you to keep it a secret!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Peter shrugs halfheartedly, something Gertrude notes is very much not a no. “You were going to have to tell him eventually. Besides, what’s more isolating than being at a party with all of your acquaintances, but no one will talk to you? I could hardly turn down the opportunity to be a wallflower for the evening,” He then glances down at his son, the little redhead fast asleep despite all the noise. “It also wouldn’t hurt to introduce the children to each other… get Martin some friends so he can push them away later on in his life.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s terrible.” Gertrude says in a deadpan manner, though she can’t say she’s surprised by Peter’s reasoning; no wonder he makes for such an ideal Lukas heir, he can’t stand being around people most of the time!</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It is, isn’t it?” Simon agrees, his eyes still alight with such mischief. He picks Mike up off of his shoulders, moving to balance the seven-year-old on one of his hips instead, biting his lip to keep from groaning in pain; he’s getting too old to be carrying Mike around so much. “Look here, Mikey; it’s the Eye’s baby archivist! Do you have anything to say to him?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mike leans closer to Jon, who Elias tries to hold away more as a result, but Simon just keeps walking his son closer, leading to him more or less cornering the other avatar against his own front door. Mike leans in again once Elias stops backing up, sniffing the other child’s hair. He reels back quickly, making a noise of disgust. “He smells </span>
  <em>
    <span>funny,</span>
  </em>
  <span> Dad,” Mike whines, shoving his face against Simon’s neck to hide from the newborn. “Smells like old books.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“As he </span>
  <em>
    <span>should,”</span>
  </em>
  <span> Elias snaps, not afraid to glare at someone as young as Mike. But he quickly focuses his glare on Simon instead, knowing this is his fault. “You get your brat away from my son, understand? I don’t want him electrocuting Jonathan!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“His name is Jonathan?” Maxwell asks, finally making himself known with his voice. He passes his sign over to Peter- who promptly tosses it into a cloud of Fog, never to be seen again- and strides over to Elias and Gertrude, shoving Simon out of the way and into the wall so he can get a closer look at the baby. He leans down into the newborn’s personal space, looking Jon over with curious, milky white eyes. </span>
  <em>
    <span>“Hm…</span>
  </em>
  <span> yes, he came out very insightful, didn’t he? A bit </span>
  <em>
    <span>bright </span>
  </em>
  <span>for my tastes, but a little time in a dark room should fix that up rather quick.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gertrude sneers at the cultist, unafraid to challenge him, even if the way she’s doing so isn’t all that direct. “I bought him several nightlights; he’ll never be alone in the dark when he’s home with me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>This causes all of Elias’s so-called guests- save for Mike and Martin- to raise their eyebrows at the archivist. “Wait… you’re sharing the baby with your </span>
  <em>
    <span>archivist?”</span>
  </em>
  <span> Maxwell asks, obviously shocked by the news.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How very </span>
  <em>
    <span>exciting!”</span>
  </em>
  <span> Simon cheers, skipping over to Jon and wiggling his fingers in the baby’s face. “Did you hear that, Jonny? You get a messed up mommy </span>
  <em>
    <span>and </span>
  </em>
  <span>a messed up daddy!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>not </span>
  </em>
  <span>how this is going to work!” Elias snaps, furious that his peers have found out so soon. As a result he glowers at Gertrude, though it does him no good and he knows it. He then sighs, passing Jon off to the woman so he can readjust his button-up. “However, Gertrude is at least </span>
  <em>
    <span>partially </span>
  </em>
  <span>correct… due to some unforeseeable circumstances, she shall be helping me watch young Jonathan while I’m working. This will give him the chance to learn his archival duties early in life, and will also give me ample time to plan his training as he grows older.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Does that mean you’re finally going to hit me up on that boarding school idea?” Simon asks, practically </span>
  <em>
    <span>vibrating </span>
  </em>
  <span>with excitement. He picks Mike up and starts dancing the expressionless little boy around the room, humming an offbeat tune as he does so. “I’m still a bit partial to calling it </span>
  <em>
    <span>‘The Fairchild Family’s School for the Incredibly Strange’,</span>
  </em>
  <span> but I’m willing to take a few suggestions!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do you take constructive criticism?” Peter asks, not even bothering to glance at whatever the hell Simon is getting up to. Actually, Gertrude’s a bit surprised he spoke up at all, as she’s used to the youngest of this group of idiots only speaking once before staying quiet for the rest of the night. He must be chatty today, something that isn’t entirely uncommon when he’s around Elias.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Simon looks up abruptly, still swinging Mike around the room by the boy’s arms, barely missing Maxwell with a particularly wide swing. “Why, yes I do, as all good businessmen should!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Peter nods, once. “Good, good. That’s a </span>
  <em>
    <span>shitty </span>
  </em>
  <span>name idea.” He says, idly petting Martin’s hair as the toddler begins to rouse.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s… </span>
  <em>
    <span>not </span>
  </em>
  <span>constructive criticism, Peter.” Maxwell mutters.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No no, he’s right; it’s a </span>
  <em>
    <span>terrible </span>
  </em>
  <span>bloody idea, and he should say as much,” Simon is completely unbothered, still wearing his signature smile despite just being insulted. “I guess I’ll have to think up some more on my flight home later.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Elias simply rolls his eyes at all of this, well and truly fed up with the men he dares to call his friends. “Yes, well, as much as I </span>
  <em>
    <span>love </span>
  </em>
  <span>having the three stooges over for a live performance, I believe I should get little Jonathan up to bed. He’s had a </span>
  <em>
    <span>very </span>
  </em>
  <span>long day, being born and all.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But we haven’t even gotten to the cake!” Maxwell says, voice coming out as something very close to a whine. “And I haven’t gotten to hold the baby yet either, only look at him, and unlike </span>
  <em>
    <span>you, </span>
  </em>
  <span>Elias, that’s not as satisfying for the rest of us.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Cake?” Elias repeats, eyes widening, and oh </span>
  <em>
    <span>god,</span>
  </em>
  <span> Gertrude can already feel a headache coming on. Why does there have to be a cake involved? Now they won’t have this lot out until daybreak </span>
  <em>
    <span>at least.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes, I had one of the cooks at home bake you one for the occasion,” Peter confirms, standing up and popping his back. “Now then, is Mrs. Gertrude planning on joining us tonight? We’ve plenty of room at the table for her.” He says this while shooting the archivist an uneasy look, and Gertrude can’t help but smirk, pleased to see that her reputation has garnered some well-earned fear from some of the other avatars.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Unfortunately, yes, she will be… afraid I can’t be free of her until we get the baby situation all sorted out,” Elias says it in such a demeaning tone, Gertrude feels justified as she smacks her cane against the back of one of his ankles, making the man yelp. “ACK, </span>
  <em>
    <span>Gertrude!”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hush,” Gertrude hisses, sparing the man a harsh glare for his trouble. “Don’t talk about me like I’m not in the room with you, Jonah. If it weren’t for me, you never could have even delivered the baby without bloody </span>
  <em>
    <span>fainting!”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Both Maxwell and Simon perk up at this, shit-eating grins on their wrinkled faces. “Oh? Do you have a story for us, Mrs. Robinson?” Maxwell asks, offering the woman a polite little head tilt. At least </span>
  <em>
    <span>he </span>
  </em>
  <span>has the good sense to use his manners.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gertrude has to bite her lip to keep from showing how amused she is by the question, sensing the way Elias tenses up beside her. “Perhaps… it depends on how well-behaved Jonah decides to be tonight.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Elias glares at Gertrude, his eyes saying bitch, but his brain knowing better. “That won’t be necessary,” He assures, coming off as more than a bit angry. He glances towards his kitchen, trying to move the conversation onto something else. “So, you mentioned cake? Can’t let it grow cold, now can we?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, Patricia had to let it get cold before she iced it, but-” Peter doesn’t get to finish, as Elias grabs his free arm, practically dragging the much taller man towards the kitchen.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“-Fantastic, then we’ll have it at once!” Elias decides, only able to maneuver Peter because the other man is letting him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>After the on-again-off-again couple leaves the room, the remaining avatars and archivist exchange an awkward glance. “Can I have some cake too, Papa? And maybe some tea?” Mike requests in the most polite voice he can manage, which is admittedly quite cute, even to Gertrude. She hopes Jon will be just as well-mannered once he begins to talk.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Of course, my little rain-cloud!” Simon chirps, scooping Mike up and holding him high above his head, letting the powers the Vast have granted him to make Mike levitate a little. “Onward, to victory!” He yells, running full-tilt into the kitchen. This is followed by a loud crash, and Elias screaming something lost to Gertrude, but whatever he says, it’s not nice.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Goodness, what an odd, perfectly insane fool,” Maxwell comments, coming to stand side by side with Gertrude. He spares her an almost apologetic look, his misty eyes scanning her with interest. “So… how have you been, Mrs. Robinson? Afraid we haven’t met in some time, not since you bothered a few of my followers last year.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ve been fine, Rayner. And please, don’t talk to me like we’re friends; you know we’re not, and we never will be.” Gertrude says, not quite snapping at Maxwell, but she’s tempted to.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The cult leader holds up his hands in mock surrender. “Touche,” He mutters, though there’s no real hurt in his voice. He’s one of the few avatars that doesn’t make too much of a scene when he gets in Gertrude’s way, and for that reason alone she’ll tolerate his pleasantries… to a point, of course. “Just making small-talk, Archivist. After all, how much longer will I be allowed to, now that an infant shall be replacing you within the next decade? Best to set aside our differences while we still can, yes? When the time comes that you are replaced, you might need a nice, quiet place to hide in afterwards…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gertrude huffs, rolling her eyes at the underhanded offer. “Although I'll admit that I don’t like having such a young potential archivist around… I honestly don’t think he’ll become the archivist as soon as everyone else thinks he will.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh? And why’s that?” Maxwell asks, curious as ever.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gertrude can’t help but smirk, continuing into the kitchen without even glancing back to see if Maxwell is following her or not. “I don’t think Jonah knows what he’s doing, and even if he does figure it out, he has no idea how to actually </span>
  <em>
    <span>raise </span>
  </em>
  <span>an archivist, especially when he’s so eager to leave the work to someone else. He can act like he holds all the cards until the end of the world, but when the time comes, it will be up to </span>
  <em>
    <span>Jon </span>
  </em>
  <span>as to whether or not he becomes a true archivist and fulfills Jonah’s wishes… and, if you’re smart, you’ll help me make sure that never happens, won’t you, Rayner?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As Gertrude disappears into the kitchen, Maxwell smirks, the expression far more dangerous than he realizes. “You’re much smarter than I’ve given you credit for, Mrs. Robinson… I only hope you know what you’re doing, too.” He whispers, following after her before he can miss out on the cake.</span>
</p><hr/><p>
  <span>It’s</span>
  <span> uncommon for so many powerful people to be gathered in one place, but not completely unheard of. Nonetheless, Gertrude feels a reasonable amount of unease when sitting at her employer’s kitchen table, unable to shake away her anxiety when she can feel the weight of everyone’s power swirling around her. It’s moments like this that, very briefly, she wishes she could give in and become a fully-fledged archivist, if only so she could have the powers that come with it, but she knows she’s too stubborn for that. She is a human among foolish demigods, and someone needs to keep their reckless asses in line. She’ll take her lot in life with a smile, all while hiding a dagger behind her back.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Everyone else seems to be in much better spirits than Gertrude, which is both a blessing and a curse. The children have all been left in a playpen within a few feet of the table- something that young Mike is clearly not happy about, since he’s stuck with the babies, but he’s nothing if not a well-mannered little boy- while their parents all converse over alcohol, tea, and cake. Simon and Elias take turns dominating the conversation, happy to take the spotlight from their peers, while Maxwell and Peter are much more lax, only adding their two cents every few minutes or so. Well, more like Maxwell is adding his commentary; Peter stays dead quiet the entire time, glancing nervously between Gertrude and Martin, unsure who to keep an eye on.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“-And that’s when I said </span>
  <em>
    <span>‘Kill</span>
  </em>
  <span> her? I don’t even </span>
  <em>
    <span>know </span>
  </em>
  <span>her!’” Simon laughs his head off as he finishes his story, hardly able to get the words out between his gasps for breath.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Elias and Maxwell let out the smallest of chuckles, clearly forced for politeness’ sake. “Yes, well, nice to hear that you’ve been so… </span>
  <em>
    <span>successful </span>
  </em>
  <span>as of late,” Elias says, having to use all of his self control not to grimace. He then flashes Maxwell a smirk, wanting to make someone else uncomfortable as payback. “How about </span>
  <em>
    <span>you,</span>
  </em>
  <span> Maxwell? Any luck with your own </span>
  <em>
    <span>‘activities’?”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>This gets a hearty chuckle from most everyone, Maxwell shooting Elias an accusing glare in return. “Come off it, won’t you? The rest of you think you’re so high and mighty, now that you’ve all got your own little avatars, but don’t you forget, Elias, you and I were in the same boat not twenty-four hours ago.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We </span>
  <em>
    <span>were </span>
  </em>
  <span>in the same boat, but now I have a child and you don’t.” Elias is frank, smiling like a Cheshire Cat behind his wine glass.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ll have one soon enough, I just know it,” Maxwell grumbles, glaring at the table with indignation in his pupil-less eyes. “I’m working on a little project outside of town with some of my followers… can’t talk about it much, not until it’s over and done with, but let’s just say that I should have my own </span>
  <em>
    <span>‘little one’</span>
  </em>
  <span> in a year or so.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Now </span>
  <em>
    <span>that’s</span>
  </em>
  <span> something to look forward to! Always fun to add a few more to the family,” Simon comments, shooting Mike a smile from over his shoulder. “Speaking of which, how are you doing over there, sport? You need a break from the babies yet?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mike looks up from his G.I. Joe figures as soon as he hears Simon address him, and although she hates to admit it, Gertrude finds the surprised look on his face to be quite cute. After a few seconds of extended eye contact, Mike gives the smallest of smiles and shakes his head. “I’m okay, Dad. Thank you!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Alright, just checking. We’ll be heading home soon, so keep that in mind, wontcha?” Simon’s joyfulness only grows after hearing Mike’s response, and Gertrude can tell that he finds the boy just as adorable as she does.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Elias and Peter exchange a short look, both of them struggling not to smirk. “Your boy is quite polite, isn’t he, Simon?” Elias’s observation comes out in a theoretical tone, his smile turning snide behind his hand, which is doing little to hide it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Peter chuckles in agreement, daring to add his own commentary. “Yes, it’s a real miracle, isn’t it? Considering his father and all that…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Simon scoffs, rolling his eyes at the underhanded insults. “Aw, shut up, ya blokes! You honestly think you’re any better? With you two as role models, your boys will be having divorces left and right, all because their daddies can’t figure out if they like each other or not!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh</span>
  <em>
    <span> please,</span>
  </em>
  <span> Simon,” Elias rolls his eyes even harder than Simon did, something about it making Gertrude uneasy. It’s weird, seeing a man roll eyes that aren’t quite his own. “Peter and I’s relationship isn’t nearly as </span>
  <em>
    <span>‘inconsistent’ </span>
  </em>
  <span>as you and Maxwell like to make it out to be. We just… like to mix it up on occasion, that’s all. Speaking of which, are either of you going to be attending Peter and I’s court hearing? I’d love to have someone sitting in to hold up signs calling out Peter for being the whore that he is.” He asks this with a completely straight face, missing the irony of it all.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ll do it!” Simon offers his help almost immediately, grinning from ear to ear at the prospect. “You know I </span>
  <em>
    <span>love </span>
  </em>
  <span>embarrassing Peter!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Peter huffs, glancing briefly at Maxwell, but he can’t hold eye contact for long with the seemingly blind man. “I don’t suppose you’d be willing to be my… </span>
  <em>
    <span>moral support,</span>
  </em>
  <span> is it? I wouldn’t mind embarrassing Elias in return, maybe with you running in and accusing him of sleeping with your non-existent husband or something of the like? That would make for an interesting case for the judge.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Perhaps. Am I allowed to bring someone with me to try and hold me back from swinging my cane wildly around the courtroom?” Maxwell asks his question so casually, it's almost enough for Gertrude to forget what he’s talking about. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Almost.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, most definitely,” Peter says, glancing briefly at Elias. “You don’t mind getting banned from another courthouse, do you dear?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Only if you’re willing to propose to me outside of it in a few months.” Elias insists.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Peter simply nods, accepting the conditions without so much as blinking.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Awkwardly, Gertrude averts her eyes. She isn’t sure what it is about constantly getting remarried and divorced that Peter and Elias are so excited about, as the whole ordeal sounds ridiculous and posh to her, but that would be like trying to figure out why the universe exists, and it’s far above her paygrade. Besides, if it gives Elias more distractions from the baby, then she’s more than willing to not intervene. Speaking of Jonathan, she finds her eyes resting on him soon enough, the infant now dressed in green footie pajamas, keeping him warm while he naps in a small bassinet that Elias put him in inside the playpen. Mike hardly even looks at the infant, being more interested in his toys, but little Martin, who Gertrude briefly remembers is about a year old, starts crawling over to the bassinet, eyes wide and curious.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Peter.” Gertrude says, not caring if she’s interrupted Elias midway through a rant or not. Wordlessly, she points at the playpen.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Peter raises an eyebrow, turning his head to look. He startles a bit at the sight. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Ah!</span>
  </em>
  <span> Martin, no, don’t touch that!” He orders, making a move to get up and grab the toddler, but a hand on his shoulder stops him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Relax, dear,” Elias suggests, voice silky smooth as he too takes to watching the playpen, his eyes glittering with interest. “He’s just meeting Jon, that’s all… let’s see how this plays out, shall we? I wonder if they’ll take well to each other.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Soon enough, Martin finishes his laborious crawl across the playpen, taking a second to breathe before he rests both hands on the side of the bassinet. The second he does so, Jon’s eyes flicker open, coming to lock with Martin’s. The toddler startles in much the same way his father did a few seconds ago, spooked by the baby, and in a rush, he grabs a nearby blanket and hides underneath it. This earns a chorus of chuckles from the men watching. After a few silent moments, Martin pokes his head back out at Jon, discovering that the newborn is still staring at him with that same intensity in his eyes. Cautiously, the redhead puts his hands on the edge of the bassinet again, rocking it experimentally. Jon doesn’t so much as whimper.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Martin takes a small breath, tilting his head curiously at Jon; it’s a good thing that the glasses he wears are strapped around his head, or Gertrude is sure they’d fall right off. Tapping the side of his glasses- the archivist is fairly certain he’s trying to mimic Peter whenever he adjusts his reading glasses at home, or something of the like- Martin pushes his face closer to Jon’s, trying to see how close he can get. Jon slowly reaches a hand up, and without blinking, he grabs Martin’s goggles, pulls them back a bit, and let's go, successfully making them smack the toddler in the face. Martin </span>
  <em>
    <span>squeals </span>
  </em>
  <span>loudly in pain, rolling onto his back as he kicks and cries, throwing a tantrum over the whole thing.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Although Gertrude feels bad for the poor kid, she can’t help but join in on the laughter as everyone chuckles at the display, save for Peter, who jumps up and scoops Martin up, bouncing the baby to try and calm him down. “Shh shh, it’s alright, Martin,” Peter whispers, only pausing to glare at the other adults in the room. “Go ahead, laugh at a toddler getting hurt; really empathetic of all of you. And you think </span>
  <em>
    <span>I’m </span>
  </em>
  <span>the heartless one!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Come now, Peter, you have to admit it’s a </span>
  <em>
    <span>tad </span>
  </em>
  <span>funny,” Maxwell says, unable to stop giggling anytime soon. “Looks as if your boys will be keeping up the tradition of the Eye and the Lonely hating each other!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m sure it’s not </span>
  <em>
    <span>that </span>
  </em>
  <span>serious,” Elias mutters, and Gertrude swears that he almost sounds worried about it. “Jon’s just tired, that’s all. He’s had a long day.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Every day is long for babies,” Simon points out, hopping out of his chair with a sigh. “Well, as much as I love watching Peter have a panic attack, I really oughta get the little one to bed before daybreak, or the family will </span>
  <em>
    <span>never </span>
  </em>
  <span>forgive me,” He stretches this way and that, making a show of it, before he strolls up to the playpen and smiles down at his son. “Come on, Mikey, we’re going home now!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay, Dad,” Mike takes the news without argument, quickly shoving his action figures into his little cloud backpack. Once he pulls it on, he holds up his arms to Simon, letting the old man help him out of the playpen. Mike then steps around the table to Elias, giving him a short bow. “Thank you for letting me and my dad come over, Mr. Mag- I mean, Mr. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Bouchard.</span>
  </em>
  <span> And thank you very much for the tea and cake, too.” With that done, he scampers to the front door to get his shoes on.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Such a sweet little thing,” Elias comments, giving Simon a short, noncommittal wave. “See you around, Fairchild. Do try not to crash into the institute’s roof next time you visit, yes? I’d really rather you </span>
  <em>
    <span>not </span>
  </em>
  <span>traumatize my employees anymore than you already have.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No promises!” Simon chirps, and just like that he’s running out of the kitchen, grabbing Mike, and soaring out an open window and into the night, Mike’s shout of excitement echoing through the air.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Elias can only sigh, shaking his head in exasperation. “That man, I </span>
  <em>
    <span>swear… </span>
  </em>
  <span>oldest of all of us, and he still acts like a damn teenager,” He turns his attention back to Peter, a truly concerned look in his eyes. “Is he alright? Anything broken? I know Jon is just a newborn, but he’s still an avatar in the making.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He seems fine enough… still teary eyed and whimpering, but that’s nothing new for him,” Peter says, still rubbing Martin’s back and holding him so delicately, Gertrude finds it quite strange. Last she checked, avatars of the Lonely weren’t known for their affectionate natures. “I’ll call you in the morning if anything comes up, but I’m inclined to believe he’ll be alright.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Good,” Elias says, letting out a subtle sigh of relief. “I’d hate to have your son dying before mine can even really meet him… though, I’ve a feeling Martin will be a bit more cautious in the future,” He manages a chuckle, proving he still finds the whole thing amusing. “Well, I won’t keep you, Peter. Be safe driving home, won’t you? I’ll see you again on Monday.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“See you then. Be well, Elias.” Peter murmurs, giving Elias a small kiss on the forehead before he collects Martin’s things, pulls on his coat, and leaves.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Suppose that’s my cue,” Maxwell mutters, and Gertrude will admit that she jumps in surprise when he speaks, having forgotten he was even here. The cultist slowly gets to his feet, grabbing his cane the minute he’s on his feet. “Goodnight, Jonah. Goodnight, Mrs. Robinson. Do keep me updated on the little one, won’t you? I’m curious to hear how he’ll develop in the next few weeks.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Elias shrugs, offhandedly rubbing at his face with one hand, the other clutching his half empty glass of wine. Good god, he looks </span>
  <em>
    <span>exhausted.</span>
  </em>
  <span> “Goodnight to you too, Maxwell. Please, do try not to drive yourself home this time; I don’t need another call from the police station about a blind old fool driving like a maniac away from my manor.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Maxwell chuckles, his smile wide enough to show a few scattered, golden teeth in his mouth. “We’ll see.” He says, making no promises not to. He hobbles out of the house, and yeah, he’s good at pretending to be blind, which only annoys Gertrude further.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The minute that Maxwell leaves, Elias let’s out a long, tired sigh, both hands covering his face as he simply sits and breathes. Gertrude remains sitting by his side the whole time, just as tired as her boss, and she isn’t about to volunteer to get up first.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>After a few minutes, which feel impossibly short in the moment, Elias finally stands up, his legs looking uneasy. “Well… it’s about time we get Jon to bed, don’t you agree?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gertrude gives a loose nod. “I do, but I feel the need to ask; do you want me to get a hotel, or-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“-I have plenty of guest bedrooms that you can use, Gertrude,” Elias assures, not letting the archivist finish. He steps over to the playpen and plucks Jon out of the bassinet, silently deciding to clean everything up in the morning. “We have an agreement, don’t we? Much as I don’t see eye to eye with you- excuse the pun, please- I’m not about to go back on my word and kill you. I hate to admit it, but… an extra pair of hands would be very helpful, especially in the early years. Once he gets older, we can discuss other options, but for now, we can swap him every two weeks or so, and take turns watching him at the institute.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gertrude nods in agreement, some part of her genuinely surprised that Elias isn’t putting up too much of a fight about this. Then again, he’s always been painfully methodical, and he knows as well as her that raising Jonathan isn’t going to be easy in any sense of the word; it also helps that the baby damn near killed him earlier. Silently, she follows Elias upstairs, biting her tongue to keep from commenting on the frankly posh decorating all around her. Does he actually </span>
  <em>
    <span>like </span>
  </em>
  <span>living like this, or is it all for show? It’s always hard to figure these things out when it comes to Elias. Before long, Gertrude finds herself in front of a wooden door unlike any of the others in her boss’s manor, as this one has a handmade door plate with the name “Jonathan” painted on it in dark, ivy green lettering.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The archivist can’t help but raise an eyebrow at the display. “When did you have this made?” She asks, half worried that Elias somehow knew what Jon’s name was going to be before he was even born. After all, he knew what gender he’d be born as, right?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The day after he was conceived,” Elias says, the smallest of smirks on his tired face, clearly pleased with himself. “It’s a fine name, isn’t it? I’m glad Delores chose such a good one; it would’ve been a shame to go and change it to something she wouldn’t have wanted.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gertrude huffs, glaring at her boss. “What a time to start respecting her wishes,” She mutters in a sarcastic tone, hating Elias for a number of reasons, but her hatred of him has only grown since she met Delores and learned of her plight. “You really didn’t have to kill her, you know.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Elias shakes his head, his eyes full of exasperation. “And </span>
  <em>
    <span>that’s </span>
  </em>
  <span>where you’re wrong, dear. Do you </span>
  <em>
    <span>really </span>
  </em>
  <span>think that Delores, with all of her stubborn protectiveness, would have let me take custody of young Jonathan? No, she never would have allowed it, so I didn’t have a choice; she had to die. I know it wasn’t pleasant to watch, but it was necessary… you of all people should understand necessary sacrifices, Gertrude.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Despite it all, Gertrude can’t help but silently agree with him there, even if she doesn’t like it. She’s killed many people over the course of her career as the head archivist, both avatars and not, and indeed, sometimes people do have to die… and yet, Delores’s death still feels so </span>
  <em>
    <span>unfair.</span>
  </em>
  <span> She was such a </span>
  <em>
    <span>sweet </span>
  </em>
  <span>woman, with a tongue quicker than lightning, and she so obviously loved her baby before she even met him, it’s not right that she doesn’t get to be a part of his life, now that he’s finally here. Well, you can’t bring back the dead- Gertrude’s seen many people try, but they almost always fail, and when they don’t, they end up wishing they had- so the archivist resigns herself to trying to become the mother Delores would’ve been. She knows it’s a lost cause, but she can at least </span>
  <em>
    <span>try, </span>
  </em>
  <span>can’t she? If not for her sake, then at least Jon’s.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Elias opening the door to Jonathan’s room is what finally snaps Gertrude out of her daydreaming, something she’s thankful for, as she truly hates getting lost in her thoughts, as they tend to go down a dark path rather quickly. Unsurprisingly, the nursery Elias has set up is beautiful in every sense of the word. The walls are painted a light, minty green, with yellow accents here and there, and of course, a ginormous, dark green eye painted onto the ceiling. It has a hardwood floor, with at least two small rugs set up in what’s obviously a play area and the immediate area around the crib. Speaking of the crib, it’s colored an eggshell white, save for a number of golden engravings on the bars, looking to be in Latin. All in all, it’s a very nice nursery, and looks more like something in a magazine than an actual baby’s bedroom. She can always count on Elias to overdo it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Isn’t it lovely?” Elias asks, looking oh so proud of himself as he strides into the nursery, holding Jon in such a way that he can look around as well. “Peter helped me decorate a bit; he insisted on a sailor theme, but I believe this to be much more fitting, don’t you agree?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gertrude gives the ceiling an unimpressed glance, grimacing at it. “That eye is going to haunt his dreams,” She warns, trying to hide the fact that she actually sort of likes the nursery, even if it </span>
  <em>
    <span>does </span>
  </em>
  <span>make the one she set up in her house look like shit in comparison. “You remembered to buy a night light, didn’t you? Wouldn’t want Rayner to be harassing the poor boy.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Elias all but rolls his eyes at Gertrude, but he doesn’t stop himself from scoffing. “Of </span>
  <em>
    <span>course </span>
  </em>
  <span>I did. What do you take me for, a </span>
  <em>
    <span>fool?</span>
  </em>
  <span> …Actually, don’t answer that.” He steps over to the crib, and with a tenderness rather unbecoming of a man like him, he lays Jonathan down inside and lays a large green blanket over him, quick to tuck it in just so, leaving the little boy swaddled and cozy in his new bed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gertrude circles around to the other side of the crib, peering inside at the child inside. Jon sleeps in utter silence, his mouth partially open, yet no sounds come out. He’s not much for snoring; at least he’s got that going for him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He must be </span>
  <em>
    <span>so </span>
  </em>
  <span>exhausted,” Gertrude comments, never taking her eyes off of the baby as she speaks. “So… how do you plan on getting him a birth certificate?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ll have Rayner falsify one for me within the week, not that there’s much of a rush to get one, at least not right now,” Elias explains, leaning his elbows on the top bar of the crib, his eyes just as transfixed on the tiny miracle as Gertrude’s. “Good lord, he’s so much </span>
  <em>
    <span>smaller </span>
  </em>
  <span>than I thought he would be… hard to imagine so much power in such a tiny thing.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We can only hope he can handle it.” Gertrude can’t keep from being a downer, though it’s more out of concern than anything else.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He can… I </span>
  <em>
    <span>Know </span>
  </em>
  <span>he can,” Elias insists, so sure of himself that Gertrude has a hard time doubting him. After a few more minutes of watching Jon sleep, he finally backs off a bit, though he makes a point out of setting a baby monitor on the changing table next to the crib so he can keep an ear out for trouble. “Come along, we should sleep while we have the chance… only a matter of time before he wakes us up for something.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gertrude can’t help but agree, nodding as she fights not to yawn. She follows Elias to the door, some part of her terrified to be stepping away from the baby, away from the child Delores died trying to keep safe. She pauses in the doorway, glancing over her shoulder at Jon, who remains fast asleep, even the eyes surrounding him when she Looks being shut tight so he can rest.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Gertrude?” Elias calls, surprised that the archivist has stopped following him. He appears to fight with himself not to, but ultimately he ends up wearing an almost endeared looking smile on his face when he sees what’s got her so distracted. </span>
  <em>
    <span>“Ah…</span>
  </em>
  <span> don’t worry, Gertrude; he’s in the safest place imaginable for him. He’ll be just fine alone for a few hours.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gertrude still struggles to pull away, eyes glued to the crib, but slowly she nods in defeat, and reluctantly, she follows Elias to a nearby guest bedroom, all the while telling herself that she’ll sort out these new, uncomfortable feelings sometime tomorrow. Or better yet, never.</span>
</p><hr/><p>
  <span>It’s only after the old woman and the murderer have left that Colonel Catnip crawls out from his hiding place, the large tomcat pulling himself unceremoniously out from under the crib, his right ear flicking to push the bottom of a blanket away from his face as he makes his escape. He sniffs the air, half expecting the murderer to come charging in at any moment and finish what he started, but when no such thing happens, he breathes a long sigh, though it gives no real relief from the situation he’s found himself trapped in. Quietly, the Colonel trots over to the changing table, and pounces up with a practiced ease in order to get onto the hard, wooden surface. From there, he jumps onto the railing of the crib, nearly losing his footing, but he manages well enough, correcting his posture as he stares down at the infant below, the evolved primate swaddled in a thick, green wool blanket. It will keep him warm, but not safe. That job, after all, is the Colonel’s to fulfill.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Poor thing,” The Colonel mewls, keeping his voice down so that the humans won’t hear him. Not that they’d understand him, even with the unblinking stare on their side. At that thought, his fur stands up on end, and it takes all his self-control to hold back a growl. Not that he can stop himself from glaring at the nearby door, hating the humans beyond it. “Worthless apes… they kill so senselessly, without any real reason or care, only wanting to scavenge what the dead have left behind. It makes me</span>
  <em>
    <span> sick,”</span>
  </em>
  <span> He turns back to the baby, pursing his lips at him. “Don’t worry, little one, I won’t let anything bad happen to you here… you can count on me to keep you safe, even if it </span>
  <em>
    <span>does </span>
  </em>
  <span>mean I have to stay with these bastards,” He glances to the window over the crib, eyeing it carefully. “I really must tell the others what has happened here, in case something happens to me in the coming days… you’ll be safe for a few hours, won’t you? Of course you will be; you are your mother’s son, after all. Sleep well, kitten.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Not wanting to risk being caught by hesitating for too long, the Colonel forces his gaze away from the infant, leaping across the length of the crib to reach the windowsill, making the landing without too much trouble. It’s child’s play to get the window open, though the tomcat makes a mental note to get ahold of one of the house keys before the week is out, if only to make such actions easier to cover up. He knows it will be harder to gather things here, when his so-called “new owners” are so mindful of their surroundings, but they are still very much human, and in the Colonel’s experience, humans are not nearly as smart as they like to think they are, and are prone to slip-ups. After shutting the window behind him, the cat whispers a quiet prayer under his breath, hoping to some higher power that his ward will still be here when he gets home; he doesn’t think he could take another heartbreak, not so soon after losing his person.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Anyone who’s still awake at this hour hardly bats an eye at the large tomcat strutting down the cobblestone streets of London, which is just fine by the Colonel. He likes strangers well enough, and some of them give the finest of ear scratches and pets, but now is not the time for such pleasantries. He’s on a mission, and he’ll be damned if anything comes between him and what he needs to do. The cat runs down an intricate, memorized path through the city, though he has to adjust it now that he’s approaching from an alternate starting point. Oh well, at least the murderer lives closer than Delores did. Good god, </span>
  <em>
    <span>Delores… </span>
  </em>
  <span>it still breaks the Colonel’s heart to know that she’s dead, but he made a promise to himself and to her, the day that she took him home and showed him such love, such kindness. He will show that same love to her son, just as she would have done.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The guild is as busy as ever, a number of cats coming and going from a large, abandoned mansion near the center of the large city, though most humans don’t even notice the surplus of cats in their area, dismissing it thanks to the felines’ closeness to various fears. It takes a bit of effort, but the Colonel manages to shove himself through one of the smaller gaps in the manor’s walls, not having time to find an easier way inside. This earns him a few curious looks, but no cat is willing to bother him, if only because of who his family is. Speaking of family, where on earth is that oversized furball!? Biting back a yowl of frustration, the tip of the Colonel’s tail twitches impatiently as he looks around the crowded first floor of the manor, pushing past the numerous other cats that don’t have the good sense to move out of his way in time. Most of them ignore the tomcat, preferring to catch up with friends on one of the rare nights they’re visiting the sanctuary than ask him what his problem is.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Colonel, is that you!?” A voice meows, and from the crowd of cats comes a short, stocky shecat with cloud-soft fur and seaweed green eyes, her coat a creamy tan color.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Misty?” The Colonel turns to greet her, ears standing at attention at the sound of a familiar meow in this sea of whiskers and fur. “Misty, it’s so good to see you! How have you been faring at the Lukas estate?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well enough. They’re quite fond of our kind, so they haven’t tried to shoo me away as of yet. In fact, I’m inclined to think a few of them might even like me,” Misty says, smiling as she looks the Colonel up and down, her gaze full of reasonable concern, as she notices how unkempt his fur is tonight. “Are you alright, Colonel? Word is that something happened in your area, but no one’s been able to scout it out yet; something about dogs being there, and too much foot traffic as well. What happened over there? Is your Delores alright?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The Colonel can’t help but draw his ears back, his head ducking down in shame. “Delores… she was murdered,” He whispers, his voice quivering more than he’d like it to. “It was the Watcher’s pet, what was his name? Yes, </span>
  <em>
    <span>Magnus… </span>
  </em>
  <span>he killed her in cold blood, just after she gave birth to her first and only kit.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Immediately, the cats surrounding Misty and the Colonel go deathly quiet, everyone turning and staring at them in abject horror. After several minutes of silence, Misty finds her voice, though it’s no stronger than the Colonel’s. “Oh dear… I’m so </span>
  <em>
    <span>sorry,</span>
  </em>
  <span> Colonel. I know you loved her like a mother,” Gently, she pushes her muzzle against his, nuzzling him in a comforting motion. A few cats close to the Colonel take up similar ministrations, nuzzling against his flank and subtly grooming his messy fur to try and sooth him. “You should tell your brother right away.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s why I came here. Is he in?” The Colonel asks, beginning to breathe easier now that he can see no one is going to scold him over this. He knows, deep down inside, that there was nothing he could’ve done to save Delores, but it still tears him up inside to have done nothing at all, save for scratch Magnus with everything he had in the aftermath, but even </span>
  <em>
    <span>that </span>
  </em>
  <span>can’t count as retribution, not for something as horrible as this.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Misty nods, pointing with her tail to a large staircase nearby. “Yes, he’s up in his usual spot in the attic. Please Colonel, don’t blame yourself for this… you’ve done enough by surviving to tell the tale.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Easy for you to say,” The Colonel murmurs, turning tail and running to the staircase, grateful when the other cats move out of his way this time. Halfway up he pauses, giving Misty a concerned look of his own from over his shoulder. “Be safe out there, Misty… and please, make sure neither you nor any other cats go anywhere near my old den, alright? The rumors are true; there are mutts up that way, and I don’t want anyone else dying at the hands of troublesome humans, or what pose as them at least.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The crowd of cats below all shiver as a unit, horrified by the news. Humans love telling stories of werewolves and vampires fighting at every turn, but their made up rivalry is </span>
  <em>
    <span>nothing </span>
  </em>
  <span>compared to the very real war between the cats and the mindless dogs posing as police officers.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Convinced that his warning will be sufficient enough, the Colonel continues his way towards the attic, it being a bit of a haul to get there. While the first floor of the mansion is for socializing, the second and third floors are for housing, as not every cat is as lucky as Misty and the Colonel to have such permanent assignments in the field. Of course, the Colonel got his by accident, but hey, there’s no shortage of places that need the watchful eyes of a feline, and luckily for London, they have an ample supply of them, so much so that they’re damn near understaffed most of the time. Thankfully, the Colonel’s heard that those cats wishing to breed have had a large number of litters this season, meaning many more sets of eyes will soon be watching the helpless mortals of London. Speaking of the tired parents, the Colonel is careful to be as quiet as a mouse when passing through their quarters, not wanting to wake what’s doubtlessly over a hundred kittens trying to sleep.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The fourth and fifth floors are easier to get through for the Colonel, being used primarily for storage of powerful artifacts , which know better than to test the patience of their feline caretakers; in all honesty, the Colonel’s fairly certain that these artifacts would rather be in the hands of the institute or a collector, where they have a chance of getting away with some trickery, but here? Oh no, not even the sticky strings of manipulation can do anything more but </span>
  <em>
    <span>shiver </span>
  </em>
  <span>in a place like this. Smirking at the thought, the tomcat struts past the endless mirrors and haunted paintings with glee, taking pleasure in such awful creatures’ misery, as they’ve inflicted so much worse than boredom and entrapment on their victims. Worthless, terrible things of the night; they can stay here for eternity and rot in this clawed up house, for all the Colonel cares. Better than letting them run loose, or worse, leaving them in the hands of foolish humans.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Finally, at long last, the Colonel makes it up to the attic. He pauses at the top of the spiral staircase, unable to keep back a shiver as he looks upon his brother. The Admiral sits with his back to the other tomcat, and for a moment, it’s like he doesn’t even notice him, too busy staring out the big, sphere-shaped window at London to notice his littermate, and yet… the Admiral’s left ear twitches, once. The Colonel does the same, but with his right ear, and through the window he sees his brother’s reflection smile at him, delighted that he still remembers their childhood’s secret greeting. Slowly, the Admiral turns around, hopping down from his perch to approach his brother. Unlike the Colonel, the Admiral is a dark brown tabby instead of being a bright orange one, and is quite a bit bigger, looking large enough to knock a bulldog over.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hello, Colonel,” The Admiral mewls in a pleasant tone, still wearing that nostalgic smile on his face. “It’s been nearly a year since I last saw you. How have you been? I’ve been hearing a lot of chatter downstairs, and I was half scared I’d lost you,” At that, his smile drops, and the Colonel can see just how upsetting the rumors must have been for his brother to hear. As if to prove this, the larger tomcat steps forward, coming to rest his chin on the back of his brother’s neck. “I’m so glad you’re safe, big brother… you nearly scared one of my lives out of me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Big brother? It’s been a long time since you’ve called me that,” The Colonel says, but he nonetheless licks the Admiral’s shoulder to smooth out his fur, reminding him that his affection is reciprocated. “But enough of that; something very terrible has happened, Admiral. Delores, she’s… she’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>dead.</span>
  </em>
  <span> Murdered by a human, the same one that controls the Magnus Institute.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The </span>
  <em>
    <span>Magnus </span>
  </em>
  <span>Institute? What business do they have murdering your person?” The Admiral asks, genuinely confused by the news, his grooming becoming more rough against the Colonel’s back. “The Lukas clan already took Alexander, did they not? What good would it do to kill Delores as well? Humans, I swear; so inconsistent.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Not entirely, in this case,” The Colonel pulls away from his brother so he can pace, if only to help him get his thoughts in order. “Magnus, he’s planning something. Before Delores died, she fell pregnant, and many hours ago she birthed the youngling; a little boy. The kit, he’s… he’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>powerful. </span>
  </em>
  <span>He’s scant opened his eyes more than a few times, and already he Sees, and he Hears, and he </span>
  <em>
    <span>Knows… </span>
  </em>
  <span>I believe Magnus did something to him, while he was in the womb, and now that he’s been born, Magnus has taken the kit in, and he plans on using his powers for something… something </span>
  <em>
    <span>bad,”</span>
  </em>
  <span> He takes a deep breath, ragged and tired. “I don’t know what he’s going to do with the baby, but whatever it is, it won’t be good. Not for us, and not for anyone else, either,” He looks the Admiral in the eyes, his own glassy with fear. “I don’t know what to do, Admiral. You’re my brother and my best friend, and I need your aid now more than ever.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The Admiral thinks on this for some time, his tail swishing the way it does when he’s got a lot on his mind. Wordlessly, he pads back to his perch on the windowsill, making a point out of leaving room for another cat to join him. The Colonel reads the invitation for what it is, pouncing up to be by his brother’s side. From here he can see damn near half of London, the city below them alight with artificially curated fires in almost every window, and the streets lined with humans seeking out euphoria in an otherwise somber place. At least one of them will be taken by something that goes bump in the night before the sun rises, and the Colonel considers himself lucky for not knowing exactly who it is, lest he becomes attached. After all, the eye already took his Delores, and he doesn’t want to imagine it taking someone else that’s close to him, like the kit or his brother. At that thought, he interlocks his tail with the Admiral’s.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The Admiral doesn’t comment, though it’s no surprise, since he’s never really been one for teasing like the Colonel’s been. “You must watch over the kit, Colonel,” The Admiral whispers after nearly ten minutes of deliberation, his gaze never straying from the city below. “I know it’s hard, now that your Delores is gone, but I know that she loved you and all who were lucky enough to be in her presence, and now that she’s dead, someone must watch the kit with eyes that blink and turn away when they must. You already have a way to be close to him, as I assume the murderer has taken you in, yes?” After the Colonel nods in confirmation, his brother continues on. “Very good… I know it’s hard, Colonel, especially for someone as stubborn as you, but you must be patient and stay by the kit’s side for as long as you are able. This may mean being affectionate to your person’s murderers, and I’m so very sorry for that, but it can’t be helped. You have to protect him, Colonel.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The Colonel nods, willing himself not to tremble. “I’ll… I’ll </span>
  <em>
    <span>try,”</span>
  </em>
  <span> He promises, feeling close to tears, though he knows his kind can’t shed them. “But what if I’m not strong enough, Admiral? What if they send me away, or lock me in a cage where I can’t reach him?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re the strongest cat I know, Colonel. And don’t worry about cages like some lost hunter; you know I have cats checking on you constantly, and they’d tell me if something bad happened to you,” The Admiral explains, the smallest hint of a smirk on his muzzle. He nudges it against the Colonel’s shoulder, letting out a low purr from deep in his throat. “No matter what happens to you, big brother, I </span>
  <em>
    <span>know </span>
  </em>
  <span>you’ll be alright. You’ve always been so resourceful, there’s really no other cat that can do what you can do. If anything happens, I’ll be there to help you, understand? Always will be, just like I promised when we were kits.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The Colonel nods, feeling so thankful to have the Admiral as his kin. “I know… thank you, brother,” He says, giving the Admiral’s pelt a few licks to show his gratitude. He then pulls away, eyes full of sorrow. “I’m sorry, I’d love to stay longer and catch up, but… the kit, he’ll need me by morning; I can’t trust those clueless humans to care for him properly.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Of course,” The Admiral takes no offense to this, his smile remaining, full of such loving pride, it makes the Colonel feel so much less alone in this war against fear. “Be safe going home, won’t you? I can have someone come with you, if you’d like.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ll be </span>
  <em>
    <span>fine, </span>
  </em>
  <span>Addie,” The Colonel assures, daring to use his brother’s childhood nickname to tease him with. “Just because you’re the king doesn’t mean I should get so much special treatment.”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Nonsense!</span>
  </em>
  <span> You’re my </span>
  <em>
    <span>kin,</span>
  </em>
  <span> aren’t you? That makes you just as much a leader as me, Colonel,” The Admiral insists, not wanting to bend on the matter. However, at the look he receives, he reluctantly backs down, though he makes a point out of rolling his eyes at the Colonel. “Fine fine, I won’t force you to, brother… but you can’t stop me from sending a spy to make sure you get home in one piece!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The Colonel rolls his eyes in turn, more amused than anything else. “Some things never change, little brother” He mutters, turning tail to head home, and even with the dire circumstances, he finds himself feeling lighter on his paws than before he came here. “Be well, Admiral… and if anything comes up, call for me, won’t you? Just because I’m on an assignment doesn’t mean I can’t be here for you, too.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I will. I love you so much, big brother; may the unblinking stare itch when looking upon you, and may the fears come to fear you in all your selfless glory.” The Admiral says, sending his brother off with a traditional blessing before the orange tabby descends the stairs once more in a sprint, intent on getting home before sunrise.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Hi, can you tell that I hyperfixated on the Warrior Cats books as a kid yet? In any case, I finally finished this fucking fic, so I hope I can get started on some other stuff for this AU soon! Got any suggestions? I have a few plans already, but I’m excited to hear your guys’ thoughts on the matter, too. Have an amazing day, and please leave a comment if you’ve got the time!</p>
        </blockquote><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>And that’s the first chapter! Anyone liking this dumpster fire so far? I sure hope so, ‘cus I’ve got plenty more on the way. Please comment if you’ve got the time, I’d love to hear people’s thoughts on this fic and AU!</p></blockquote></div></div>
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